#and not turn into a prune for being in it for too long | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leviathanleva · 1 day

Text

Daisy

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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

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Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

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Chapter 4 "The Plea"

You stretch and groan.

The sound comes out jumbled and is drowned out by the violent vibrating of the washing machine you’re perched upon. You strain your legs, flexing your thighs and working out the sleep from your numb muscles. Your toes squish against the inside of your boots before you relax and rub at your eyes, wiping away the tears your incessant yawns were causing.

You’d seen plenty of pictures of children hollering in front of a fan on a hot summer day, some sort of weird way to entertain themselves because the beat of the fins distorted their voices. It was a good commercial for any fan whenever summer rolled around. Sadly, now when you were free to wander and do as you pleased, much of the mundane experiences you wanted to dip your toes in were impossible to achieve. You were two hundred years too late. You took what you could get though, hence why you’d let curiosity guide you on top of the washing machine once it had started centrifuging.

The steaming coffee mug sat on the L-shaped kitchen counter just next to you and after a moment of being thoroughly jostled around, you picked it up with as much care as you could. Lips latched onto the edge of the mug with haste before you took a big sip, slurping audibly before the coffee could spill out from the violent thrashing causing your arm to quake.

Wet hair clung to your bare shoulders and the aromatic droplets of water dripped and soaked into your dress. It had taken you a good hour to get the ghoul inside the shower after you’d gotten out, all squeaky clean and smelling of lavender soap. How he managed to bear being a grimy crusty prune was beyond you, but as soon as the generator had kicked back to life and restored some power in the vault, you’d jumped at the idea of a nice hot shower.

His clothes were strewn on a dangling cable, as clean as they could get after being worn for who knows how long without a proper wash. Some stains persisted and the washing machine couldn’t do anything about the faded colors, but at least they didn’t smell of death anymore.

He’d dismissed your proposal to launder his rags at first, bumped the butt of his shotgun against your stomach hard enough to make you wheeze and still you hadn’t relented. It was the least you could do, you’d said, begged even. After everything he’d done for you, you wanted to repay him outside of the hefty tato sack stuffed to the brim with bloody Pip-boys and medical supplies and provisions. You’d chewed at his ear until he’d given up with a sigh and hidden behind the shower curtain before tossing his clothes at you layer by layer.

In truth, you just wanted to prolong his departure. Thinking of anything and everything because you didn’t want to be left alone in this haunted vault, you’d come up with ploy after ploy and the power coming back had only aided you in your private battle. So traumatized by the last day that you clung to him even if he was a demented, deadly wastelander probably no better than the raiders he’d slaughtered.

Your sleep had been plagued with nightmares that night; grotesque sceneries of violence and gore were painted in detail over your closed eyelids, making you stir and whimper in your bed. The ghoul was a light sleeper, trained to spring into action at the slightest noise and you tossing and turning and making the bedframe creak gave him all the rights to chuck a cushion at you. He’d scared you half to death with that, but the reminder that he was still there, grumbling on the couch and trying to catch a wink of rest, had given you enough comfort to sleep peacefully for a few hours.

When the washing machine stilled, your reminiscing ended.

You tipped the mug, suckling at the last few drops of sweetened coffee, before setting it aside and hopping on your feet. After pulling the foggy lid open, you drape your socks and your old dress over your forearm and a scowl pinches at the corner of your lips.

Apparently, Abraxo wasn’t strong enough to wash away radroach intestines. You mourned the ruined dress, bitter with wasting the cleaning product for nothing, but decided to hang it up regardless and let it dry.

Who cared for stains anyway? You had bigger problems on your plate.

The screech of the shower tap and a curt whistle have you automatically groping at the ghoul’s clothes.

“Be right there, mister!” you call out and bunch them up in your hands, placing his hat over your head to save space, his coat is still damp but you doubt he’d mind. You skitter to the edge of the shower and leave the pile next to his weaponry before your manners lead you away to give him some privacy.

The half-empty coffee pot caught your attention once you were back in the bright yellow kitchen area. Despite your low tolerance and the apparent twitches in your fingers, you refilled your mug, deciding that adding sugar wasn’t needed this time.

You were free now, you could drink all the coffee you wanted.

Once the rustling of clothes and buckling of belts and straps ceased, the ghoul appeared from behind the wall, finding you sitting on the counter with ankles crossed and kicking your feet rhythmically. You beam at his slightly less disheveled state, eyes darting from him to the full mug waiting for him. He scoffs and accepts your silent offer.

“Feeling better?”

“Like a new man.” he declares with a sense of peace to his tone and leans back against the fridge before taking a long sip from his lukewarm drink.

Cooper was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He’d caught on to your innocent scheme quickly. From the coffee to your constant close proximity, to washing his clothes. The biggest giveaway was you trying to hide your nervousness and biting back victorious smiles whenever he accepted any of your domestic offers. You were kneading him like sourdough, nice and good and gentle, hoping for something in his brain to click and his simple plan of taking his things and leaving to take a different course.

That’s why he fought against melting in the shower and suppressed a genuine smile when he saw the coffee. He kept his guard up, concrete walls so high one couldn’t see the top, locking away whatever humanity was left to rot, untouched and undisturbed. Joy was an illusion, peace was the quiet before the storm.

Nothing lasted, neither would you.

“Take me with you, I won’t be useless, I promise.”

He could almost hear those words twirling on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill but never being voiced. Like hell, he’d ever entertain that idea.

“So what now, mister?” you ask casually, hiding pouty lips behind your mug and looking up at him in question. “Where you headed off to?”

“Well, – ” he rasps and clears his throat. “ – considering my bounty’s prob’ly dead. Gonna head off to Tillburry.” he nudges his chin at the sack resting by the exit of the suite. “Gonna sell some o’ that, make me some profit.”

Your vigorous slurping stops and you swallow the mouthful of bitterness before cocking your head.

“Tillberry?” you test the unfamiliar word with hesitation. “And that’s…what?”

“Tillburry.” he corrects and rests one foot against the fridge door, the spur on his boot clanking against the metal. “It’s a settlement, darlin’. Quite the big one too.” he mulled over a particular memory, looking down at his drink. “ ’Bout three hundred people last time I checked.”

“There are settlements?” you choke and cough out the spit tickling your throat with a fist to your mouth.

The thought that a good number of people had survived and were thriving enough to start rebuilding was unfathomable. Even if said settlements were based on the ruins and scraps of the cities from the old days it was still such a groundbreaking piece of knowledge.

Considering the raiders and the ghoul, you’d assumed everyone on the surface was deranged and out for blood. A man-eat-man nightmarish hell in which not even the strongest survived for long.

But no, there were people, honest hardworking people, that were coming together to build safe havens and restore some order to the chaos they had been born into. Sure, they had probably seen their fair share of hardships and were rugged and hard-skinned, but if they’d managed to keep the peace and grow towns and develop businesses, they couldn’t be that bad.

You had to see this. You needed to.

“Plen’y of em.” he pipes in, then tips his head and his voice acquires an almost mocking twinge. “Wasteland’s not as dead as you think, sweetheart.”

“Take me there.” you blurt out before even realizing it.

“Pardon?” he’s surprised for only a moment before his demeanor shifts to dangerously sharp and his eyes harden. He moves in an instant, large palms planted on either side of your thighs and you have to jerk back to avoid him smashing his forehead into yours. “Mind your fuckin’ tone with me, missy.”

When you squint and recoil, he eases, satisfied with your reaction.

“Just cuz I been toleratin’ you don’t mean I can’t stuff a bullet in your belly.”

“I’m sorry! Sorry, sir.” you rush to undo your mistake, having spent too much time with him while he was docile to remember that you weren’t dealing with a friendly neighbor. “I meant no disrespect.” with a lowered gaze and a lump in your throat you continue. “I’d just really like to see such a place…”

“And I’d like a fifty-acre ranch to breed horses.” he sneers at you, yellow teeth peeking under his chapped lips. He shifts his weight around, resting from one hip to the other as he pulls away just barely. His fingers still grip the counter, still around you and ready to subdue another fuss. “But we don’ always get what we want.”

“Maybe I could…live there?” you didn’t believe your own words, but you still persisted. Flickering lashes swatted over pity eyes as you stared at him like an expectant street cat waiting to be adopted.

A preposterous idea. You didn’t know the first thing about surviving on the surface, couldn’t tell a radroach burrow from an anthill, and yet however difficult it would be anything would be better than living by yourself in a hole in the ground. Maybe you would have managed if the raiders had just left and the ghoul never crossed your path. But now, after knowing the bliss of company, of a friend who didn’t talk about medicine and made-up cures, now you couldn’t.

You needed him and not just for his skills or his wisdom of living off a toxic land. You needed him for him, just the ghoul, just the man who’d shown you kindness.

“Sweetheart, you needed t’ read the manual before turnin’ on the washin’ machine.” he states in a very mocking matter-of-fact way and snorts with a half-smile. “Twice.”

“But I did it.” you say back, struggling against a lost battle but how could you not when there was a blueish limp hand peeking from beyond the complex exit.

He gives you a once over, considering for a second before shaking the thought away with a bitter glower.

What the hell was he even thinking?

“You don’t really fit in with the common folk.” he counters again and he’s confident that soon you’ll wane. “Don’ think they’ll take too kindly to you.”

“What’d you mean, mister?” you tilt to the side, leaning on one hand with a faint pout.

“Yer too clean.” he mumbles while skimming over you with a judgmental expression, his mouth pursing as he took you in. “Too pretty. Too kept.” he leans back to cross his arms, a half-frown of disapproval glooming over his face. It wasn’t a compliment; it was dry facts that he offered you to get through your thick skull that you’d be in more danger than you realize if you ever managed to reach a local town. “Surface dwellers don’ like your kind.”

“Then I’ll work on it until they like me.”

The back of your boots hit the counter each time you kicked your feet, egged on by the caffeine overdose. You kept your eyes glued to his because you didn’t know of a better way of pleading without sounding pathetic and getting on his nerves.

“You can’t even fire a gun, darlin’.” the ghoul sighs in defeat, not because you’re getting under his skin, but because you fight this ferociously for your demise.

Both of you are aware that you wouldn’t last long outside. You were defenseless and had no usefulness, you weren’t accustomed to radiation, and everything on the surface was soaked in it. Most available jobs either needed you to get your hands dirty or break your back with overtime and you’d nearly passed out after walking half a day in a desert and thrown up at the sight of a dead body.

He’d be damned if he let you abandon a life of comfort and security because you didn’t know what you were asking for. Letting go of constant food and fresh water and hot showers just because you were too scared to learn by trial and error on your own was too much for him. It was stupid and you rebelling against him tooth and nail made it worse.

You weren’t winning anything; you were just giving him a headache.

“Someone would be willing to teach me.” the naivety in your comeback makes him laugh and your brows rise and furrow at his reaction.

“Ain’t nobody gonna do shit for free.” that was his last pushback before he made up his mind on ending your charade. His hat dipped and his tone lowered to an even rasp. “You’ll be just fine here, darlin’.” he takes a few steps back and chugs the remainder of his discarded coffee before grunting in satisfaction. “Good cup o’ coffee…Now be a dear ‘n show me the way out.”

“I could make you more if you stayed a bit longer, mister.”

A drowning man’s attempt to keep from sinking.

You give him a tiny smile and roll your ankles to release some tension. You knew you were pushing it, from his stiff shoulders to his thinned upper lip, but you didn’t want to stay here anymore. Disregarding the steady supply of provisions and the regulated temperatures, the medical supplies and the safety. You wanted to go with him. Wherever he went, no matter the danger, you want to be in his shadow. The radroaches and raiders forgotten, ignorant of just how hostile his world was and selfish by continuing to thrust your life in his hands when he didn’t want it.

“Das enough, darlin’.” he mutters while picking up the supply sack and flinging his bandolier over his shoulder.

“What if – ”

“– Enough!” your mouth shuts at his command. His glare is piercing while he stands by the door with his back turned to you, giving you only a stern side-eye. “Move.”

You slide off the counter without another word and pat down your dress, not that anything could be seen underneath the thick tights but common decency forced you to. He waits for you, motioning with his hand once you're by his side and you walk forward, through the dingy corridor and past the raider he’d gutted the day before.

You try not to look, but it’s difficult when the deep red hues contrast with the metallic white of the wall and floor. It’s an abominable sight. There’s a cut spanning over the entirety of the man’s neck, horizontal and precise, so deep that amidst the flesh and blood, you see bone.

You could almost simulate the pain and you struggled to swallow.

He was a raider… he was a criminal. He was a bad man, he’d tried to murder you and failed by just an inch, the ghoul did what he had to do. There would be plenty more with much the same mindset if he agreed to take you with him. Scenes like this would probably be a daily occurrence, but you wouldn’t be the one doing the killing and still seeing the raider nearly decapitated scarred something deep within you.

Were you really willing to go through this again just to stay with the ghoul?

Maybe, for him, maybe.

“Fuckin’ piss stain…”

You look to him at that remark, then down at the center of his attention. He had one foot set in a puddle of blood and pieces of flesh, both attached to an unmoving vault dweller. He wiped his boot in the corpse’s suit and spat with malice.

“You really don’t like this place, mister?” it’s more of a statement than a question, but your quizzical expression gives him enough room to reply.

You had noticed his visible disdain once he’d first entered the vault with you, but you’d blamed it on him being an experienced bounty hunter who knew better than to let his guard down. Then you’d seen his complete lack of empathy for the dead bodies littering the hallways and even a drop of anger edging his default scowl. He had a personal vendetta against the inhabitants, a distaste that went so deep he’d preferred to sever the wrists of the corpses over just unclasping their Pip-boys and claiming them for himself.

You’d never brought it up because it wasn’t your place, but now you had a reason to, and your curiosity was peaked.

“Vaults ain’t my thing, darlin’, nor vaulties.” he speaks with spite, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips when he raises his gaze to you. Then he kicks the mess out of his way without a hint of shame, splashing the gore over the floor, and continues after you.

“Why?” you peep and it’s so innocent and light because you don’t understand the gravitas of the answer you’re reaching for.

There’s a small pause as you glance at the ghoul with a blank visage. There’s a certain lethargy to your step and a bounce to your slack shoulders because you’re relaxed and clear-minded and you have no idea just what you’re asking him. He could be angry, you’re poking around topics that are beyond your capacity, ones of resentment and shrewd grudges that span over such a long time that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

But he wasn’t upset, there was no point. You were just a stupid little thing trying to sow a light chat before your paths diverged.

The memories are knocking on the front door of his consciousness, but he refuses to indulge them. Not now, maybe later when he was alone and could recollect everything in peace.

“That ain't none o’ your business.” his words are snippy but his tone is placid, he doesn’t even reciprocate your prying eyes, just stares straight ahead with a tense jaw.

His reluctance to delve deeper and the shift in the air give you a good enough hint to not press the matter further. You would have reached to pat his arm, a benevolence he undoubtedly deserved along with so much more, but refrained from doing so. Despite you having placed him on a golden pedestal for all he’d done for you, which wasn’t much, but enough to leave you with an unforgettable impression, he didn’t see you in the same manner. His life had hardened him both physically and emotionally, he hadn’t even trusted you to sleep together in the same suite, having tucked one of his pistols under his pillow with a finger on the trigger.

You’d seen it, you just didn’t mention it.

He didn’t need your pity nor your good-heartedness, he didn’t care and that’s why you kept from overstepping even if you wanted to comfort the restless beasts pacing somewhere within his being.

“You’ve been nice to me though.” you put forth a honeyed smile and steered the conversation to a lighter note. A small sugary quip to oppose his hardened exterior and alleviate him of his hissy mood.

He chuckles, a raspy chortle that tickles your ear and curls your lips into a grin.

“Ain’t nice, missy, just tolerant.”

Your chirpy chat continues as you pass through the whey field and into another brightly lit tunnel. He doesn’t have to know that you could have led him to the elevator three times already through a shortcut. You like him, harbor such fondness for him in all his gruffness, you might have agreed to lead him out but you never said you wouldn’t take the scenic route. An extended detour while you continuously banter with each other and you always relent because you want him to be happy with having the upper hand in the conversation.

But no matter how long you tried to prolong the inevitable, eventually, you found the way to the elevator. Before it had been your savior, taking you away from those vile people before they could sink their grimy claws in your flesh. Now it was an unwelcome vestige, the last step before the ghoul left and you were abandoned to waste away in an underground prison.

He entered first and leaned against the steel wall, a thumb tucked in his belt and hat tipped over his eyes. You turn your back to him and press the button and it’s suddenly awkward and silent.

You wished the damn thing moved slower, but it propelled up, passing by vault levels within a blink. Such a cruel construct…

Misery didn’t thrive for long, you didn’t let it.

Maybe one day you’d meet him again. You’d learn to shoot a gun, there had to be at least one stashed somewhere for emergencies, then you’d learn to sustain yourself and grow crops, fiddle with the mechanisms of the vault and read every book and article and document regarding medicine. You’d prepare well and one day leave again to explore the world outside and maybe if fate was kind, you’d run into him on your journey.

Maybe he wouldn’t remember, maybe he would, but you’d be happy all the same.

And you’d be different then, stronger and more independent and not useless. Maybe he’d take you with him when you proved that you wouldn’t be a burden anymore. He’d take you on his adventures and teach you how to be a bounty hunter like him and you’d make the best duo the surface has ever seen.

Your self-assurance dwindled when the elevator reached the top level and the door slid open. He walked out unbothered and you struggled to keep the calm façade going.

It wasn’t healthy to form such attachments so quickly, but it happened and you were torn between begging him one last time and giving him the solace he craved. But could you really be blamed when you’d known only solitude?

He stood at the vault entrance and tossed you a slow, expectant look and you fiddled with the Pip-boy. Stiff fingers scrolled through the menus, determined to take as much time as possible while you prayed for a miracle. Your pleas remained unanswered, the time for stalling ended as the gate screeched and rolled to the side. A hot gust of wind crept through, drying your eyes and making your throat scratchy after a few silent breaths.

“Best of luck, vaulty.”

He raised his arm and flicked his wrist in a goodbye after readjusting his hat, boots clinking as he set forth with an even pace. You watched him leave, heart asunder, mouth cracked open but no words came out. Gripping onto the control panel, frustration flaring, desperation so intense it made the hairs on your arms lift up.

Was this really it? Was this the end of it? Was this the last time you saw him? The only friend you had, the only person you knew, the only warmth ever given to you.

He could let go without a second thought, but you couldn’t.

“Go…GO!”

A shaky step, then another.

With each step, the quake in your legs eased, determination overpowering hesitation, and before you knew it you were jogging and then running. The sand wasn’t kind to your shoes, you nearly tripped, wide strides bringing you closer to him because, unlike his tempo, yours held intention.

He knew you’d do this, he knew and he had the common sense to pull out his pistol and threaten you back inside.

You might have tumbled him over if you had the strength, but instead, you splat yourself against his back and drape your arms around his abdomen. His hand faltered, resting on the holster of his gun as you squeezed him and slid your fingers past his coat, grabbing at his vest.

“Please.” you force through a clenched throat, choosing to beg him instead of breathing. Saliva pools in your mouth and tears form in the back of your eyes as you press your cheek against his spine. Your eyes squeeze shut as if cutting off your vision would make you deaf to his answer. “Please…I’ll – ”

He’d taken what he needed, completing your transaction and wanting nothing more, but maybe you could find something else he had use for. He sighs and you’re so regretful, but you can’t let it go without a final push. And he’s fed up enough to maybe just shoot you, but if he was you’d have a chance at bargaining again and keep him around for a few more minutes.

“ – I’ll pay you.” you sniffle back the runny mucus seeping through your nostrils and swallow a mouthful of thick spit, it distorts your voice just a bit. “Please take me to Tillberry. I’ll find a job – I’ll – You can have everything I earn, I just need enough to buy some food.”

“Tillb – ” he grunts and pinches the space between his eyes as they shut.

He wanted to rip you off of him and leave, with no mercy and no care, but you just had to play nice. You had to play house with him and make him coffee and wash his clothes and be soft with him. The sweet gestures and light words did things to him, he was no fool, they reminded him that humans still existed and they were still kind. A peek into the past.

“I won’t be useless. I’ll learn quick and stay out of your way and do anything you ask…Just until the settlement.”

Whines and sobs and sniveling sniffs and chokes, they crawl up his skin like maggots and try to burrow and find an ounce of empathy, but he has none.

“Right.” he whirls around with such force that if it hadn’t been for the iron grip he clasped over your jaw, you would have fallen. He’s an eyelash away from your face, with a fowl snarl carving into his gaunt features and he spats poison at you. He speaks the truth. “Do you fucking know what the hell you’re asking for?” he’s so pissed that his accent dissipates. “You’re gonna fuckin’ die out here. With or without help.”

“Plea – ”

“ – I ain’t no God damned babysitter!” he snaps and forces you back. You stumble and curl your hands over your chest instinctively as he points his pistol at you, forefinger on the trigger. “Now get the hell outta my sight.”

His lips pinch in annoyance when you don’t move.

He didn’t give a damn if you lived or not, but you’d shown him respect and generosity and he repaid you by not shooting you down on the spot. He gave you a chance at survival, exterminated the pests in your home and made sure to leave enough provisions to live off of while you worked out how to take care of yourself. You wouldn’t receive half of what he’d done for you in the wasteland, it was a cutthroat fever dream that no one could wake up from.

Precious things lived in castles, not in the wilds.

But then you finally move. You move and it’s the wrong fucking way.

The tip of the gun glosses over your cheek as you enclose trembling fingers around his wrist and his sleeve is pulled back enough for you to find his skin, marred and leathery and disgusting and safe and wonderful. Your eyes close and press into his glove as the barrel rests against your bare shoulder and all it would take was a click and you’d be dead.

“Please, mister.”

You sink to your knees, bringing his arm down with you.

A lost little dove, fluttering in his palm, trusting and willing and kneeling at the gates of hell because it already knew what heaven was. Or maybe it didn’t, maybe you knew a different hell he was unfamiliar with so you begged for his instead of going back to your own.

“I’ll do anything…”

He’d seen plenty of people beg for their lives, for food or water or help. He’d heard it all, from bargaining to taunting, reverse psychology, and manipulation tactics all in the name of living to see another sunrise. This was the first time anyone had ever pleaded for him.

He should have left yesterday, the moment you’d found the storage unit he should have taken his things and been on his way. He should have tried to find the exit while you were sleeping and never looked back. He should have done more, everything in his power to not be in this damnable situation. You fed something within him, a slumbering behemoth forgotten over time, you sated a need he’d developed so long ago, a need so constant he didn’t realize was there anymore until you.

“Get the hell up.” he grips your arm like the brutish man he is, pulls you to your feet, and spins you around like a puppet.

You don’t fight, drained by both the searing sun and your turbulent emotions, letting him latch his hand to the back of your neck and drag you forward, back to the vault.

Back to solitude. Back to hell.

“Three hundred caps.”

You muster an inquisitive hum and dare to steal a glimpse of his expression. It’s haggard, annoyed, defeated.

“For your safe transportation t’ Tillburry.” he offers you nothing, not even a peak, but his hold on your neck tightens and you wince. “Now use your fuckin’ legs. We’re loosin’ daylight.”

🌼 Masterlist 🌼

Tag list: @bountydroid @windierhades @ultimatereality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x @fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv series #the ghoul x you #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul x reader #fallout the ghoul #the ghoul #x reader

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aviidus · 2 years

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Oh dear, that would be quite unfortunate wouldn’t it, @chickenparm.

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saetoru · 9 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ STRAWBERRY FLAVORED — GETO SUGURU.

contents. here is a lil prequel to this btw, basically this is suguru’s shower scene but if he actually had someone to take care of him, reverse comfort, aka my extremely self indulgent drabble of fixing suguru before he turns into a mass murderer <3

it’s been a while—suguru has been in that shower for long enough that you’re starting to grow concerned. you contemplate for a bit, whether it’s a good idea or not to enter the boys shower, weighing the possibilities of being caught.

satoru’s not here, you reason, nanami and haibara are gone too, and yaga shouldn’t notice either—so, with a heavy sigh, you walk up to the door, opening it slowly. you can see him, standing as the water pours over his body, not even moving a little when you enter.

suguru is not the same—not after everything that’s happened. you can tell, you can see it under his eyes from the lack of sleep, you can see it in his cheekbones as they show a bit more from the lost weight, you can see it in the stiffness of his body when you’re around him. he’s not the same, and no one’s seem to have noticed, but you have. you always have.

you slowly strip from your clothing, walking up to him quietly until your arms circle his waist and your cheek rests against his bare back.

“baby,” you hum, “you’re turning into a prune. look at your skin,” you grab his hand, running a thumb over the tips of his fingers, wrinkly from the water.

he gives you an empty chuckle—you don’t think you’ve heard a real laugh from suguru since that day. “but aren’t i a handsome prune?” he mumbles.

“of course,” you kiss his shoulder, “the handsomest.”

“that’s a relief,” he says playfully—there’s nothing playful about his tone, though. it’s numb, automatic, like he’s trained himself to respond to you the way he always does. but you can feel it. he’s not the same.

“you’ve been in here a while. i got tired of waiting.”

“sorry,” he drops his hand from yours, falling limply to his side, “lost track of time, i guess.”

“suguru,” you say softly, “what’s wrong?”

he’s quiet, probably contemplating his answer. no one else might’ve noticed, but you have. you always do—he knows you always will. finally, he decides to answer, “are you really asking me that?”

“yes,” you say firmly, “i want to hear it. i want you to hear it. stop pushing it down.”

“i’m fine,” he mutters, “just tired.”

“i know,” you say softly, “i know you’re tired. what’s got you so tired?”

gently, your arms twist his body—he doesn’t put up a fight, just spins to face you until his face is digging into your neck on instinct. he can smell your body wash, can inhale the familiar scent of you from here. there are no curses to consume and no people to save at the risk of himself here, just the soft feeling of your skin and the warm press of your lips on his head.

riko would’ve liked you, he thinks. he can’t help it.

for a fleeting moment, when his hand was outstretched to her, he’d wondered if you’d like her too. he’d decided you would—you’re kind, you always have enough love for one more person. you’ll like riko, he’d thought. and then just like that, she’d been on the floor, dark pool of blood under her head.

you never got to meet her, and he never got to introduce you.

“what’s wrong, sugu?” you ask again, voice more delicate this time.

“everything,” he whispers.

he’s tired, so incredibly tired. suguru is exhausted. so for today, he’ll let you pick up the pieces. he doesn’t want to worry about you right now, doesn’t want to think about whether or not the edges will be sharp enough to slice your fingertips. suguru is exhausted—so for once, he lets you worry about him instead.

“i see,” you nod, letting your fingers trail to his head, stroking the wet strands gently as he trembles against your body, “everything is a lot. let’s start with just one, yeah?”

“i hate the taste of curses,” he spits, “it tastes like vomit.”

“that’s no good,” you agree, and then you’re pulling his head out of your neck—he wants to protest, wants to stay right where he is so he doesn’t have to face you, or anything. but you’re insistent, gentle as you are firm, cupping his cheeks as you force him to look at you. “can you still taste it?”

“yeah,” he nods. it’s true, he can’t forget the taste even if he tries. it’s like a phantom pain—but it resides on his tongue, haunting him long after it’s gone, even as he breathes and swallows and talks. “i hate it.”

your lips are on his after that, soft and sweet against his mouth. he can taste the strawberry of your chapstick, the familiar taste of you that he also could never forget. it washes down the vile taste of curses easily, so he leans in for more. and more. and more. he needs more.

“what about that?” you ask, stroking his cheek when you pull away, “how does that taste?”

“good,” he says shakily, “i…i like that.”

“i know you do,” you smile, pecking the corner of his mouth, “i can’t change how curses taste. but if i could, i’d make them strawberry flavored for you.”

he chuckles at that—it’s small, but it’s real. for the first time in a long time. it’s real.

suguru hates how curses taste, and you can’t change that, but you can help make swallowing become easier. he’ll take it—he’ll take anything you give.

“that might make the job easier,” he says, burying his face back into your neck, “they’d taste like you.”

“i’ll kiss you then,” you stroke his hair, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head. his lips wobble, vision turning blurry. suguru is tired—he doesn’t want to hold it in anymore. “after every curse you swallow, i’ll kiss you. it’ll make it easier.”

“i don’t know if it will,” he admits, “this….what do we do it for? none of it is easy.”

he used to think it was. fighting curses was easy—satoru and him were the strongest. fighting curses was like stepping on ants as they walk on the concrete, crushing them before they can bite anyone. but he starts to wonder if people deserve to be bitten, if the people who kick at ant piles mindlessly for fun deserve to be saved from themselves.

you think for a bit, contemplating his question as the water runs over both of your bodies, slipping into the thin crevices between your skin and his.

“it’s not,” you agree, “it’s not easy. i would’ve loved to meet riko. i know you wanted me to. i’m sorry, suguru.”

somewhere along with the water on your shoulder mixes his tears, and his body shakes against yours. suguru is tired. he’s tired of swallowing curses and tasting bile. he’s tired of pretending the weak are innocent. he’s tired of carrying so much weight on his young, innocent shoulders. they deserve to be free.

“is it worth saving them?” he asks as he sniffles, “if they clap over people like us dying?”

“people like us aren’t always so different,” you point out.

people like us don’t need saving, he wants to argue—but you don’t give him a chance to, turning the water off behind him as you stand there holding him as he leans into you.

“there will always be someone who needs to be saved,” you murmur, “and there will always be something they need to be saved from. it’s not always as simple as curses and exorcisms, though.”

“that doesn’t make any sense,” he frowns, “that’s the whole point of jujutsu. to exorcise curses.”

“and if we exorcised them all? would that make everyone safe?”

“maybe not,” he furrows his eyebrows, “but at least we wouldn’t be dying for them.”

“you never know,” you reach for the towel, slowly pulling away and patting his skin gently as you dry his dripping skin, “maybe you’d die from something worse.”

“what could be worse?” he asks bitterly. he doesn’t understand. but you smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw as you brush his bangs from his face.

“i don’t know,” you shrug, “but i’m sure there’s something. there’s always something worse. but there’s always something better too.”

he still doesn’t completely understand. but the weight on his shoulder doesn’t feel as heavy when you lean and kiss it again—he feels like at least some of his youth is still his, still yours.

“you make no sense,” he grunts, scowling when you ruffle his hair obnoxiously with a giggle.

“well, maybe you’ll make sense of things after a nap,” you poke his chest accusingly, “you really need one. and then you’ll eat something. c’mon.”

“i don’t sleep with wet hair,” he reminds you as you tug him along, stopping where his clothes hang. you gesture at him to hold his arms up, grabbing his shirt. he rolls his eyes and indulges you, letting you dress him.

“i’ll dry it for you,” you chuckle, “my sugu is so high maintenance.”

and then, before you can turn to grab your own clothes, he tugs your wrist and pulls you in, kissing you hard, kissing you hungrily, kissing you like you’re all he has. just because he can. he can taste the last bits of your chapstick—he wants to keep tasting it forever. it’s strawberry, his favorite.

“i like strawberries,” he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes, “so don’t change the flavor.”

“okay,” you grin, cupping his cheeks, “i’ll always get strawberry for my sugu.”

he just needed a few kissies and he would’ve been fine. i guess i’ll take one for the team and kiss him a few times 😔 i guess i can take the responsibility of loving him 😔 i’ll be fine guys no need to worry about me 😔

#operation: heal suguru!#teepods.writings #drabbles.#geto x reader #geto x you #geto angst #geto fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru fluff #geto suguru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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pseudowho · 4 months

Text

Grandpapamin

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

When Nanami Kento becomes a grandfather...

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Kento thought the happiest day of his life was when he became a father...but then, his baby had a baby.

It was like love...squared.

He and you dutifully took care of your daughter's house while she was in labour. Kento pruned the plants, and baked, and paced, and paced, and paced.

While Kento knew in his heart his daughter was being well cared-for, he felt stunningly unable to protect her while she went through the biggest day of her life.

In the night, you woke, and your hand brushed out across the sheets for Kento...only to find him not there.

You creep through the house, and find him sat in the armchair by lamplight, his eyes glistening with tears as he goes through an old box, full of photographs of his baby, little onesies, a handprint in clay, a decoration she made at school, her first drawings and handwriting.

You sit with him, in front of the fire, warm and reminiscent, of those long-short years when your babies were babies.

"...she'll be alright?" He worries aloud.

"She'll be more than alright. She'll be amazing," you reassure, kissing his greying temples, stroking crow's feet.

You lead him back to bed, his hand dry, like soft warm leather, and you hold each other with the earnest familiarity of an aged love.

When Kento's phone rings at 7:37 in the morning, a time he never forgets, he is out of bed with a lithe hop, answering, desperate for news.

A sweet, swooping joy, an excited wake-up, an embrace and relief; his grandchild is born, and everyone is safe.

Kento has a grandson; his daughter is resplendent, pink-cheeked, exhausted and proud. Kento holds her close, shedding tears into her hair as she cradles his new grandson; "I'm so proud of you, darling. I always have been. You deserve him."

He drives his daughter and her partner home, knowing they are exhausted.

Kento and you never overstay your welcome; you ensure the new family is comfortable, give kisses and hasty reassurances that you are both just a phone call away, and go home.

Kento cannot stop jiggling his leg in delight on the way home. He is imagining all the wonderful things he wants to do with his new grandson.

Kento calls everyone-- Gojo, Yuuji, Ino, Higuruma. Everyone is delighted. Everyone secretly wants him to be their grandfather.

It is only when Kento and you have gone, that your partner opens the freezer-- "Oh my god!" They exclaim, laughing, "I think your dad has cooked enough to last us a month!" Kento has, obviously. He believes in being organised.

Kento spends the next few years of his life being a thoroughly naughty responsible grandfather.

Visiting Grandpapamin? Oh, only the finest will do.

While Kento always plans wonderful meals with you, his daughter turns her back for just one minute, and returns to find her son with a treat in his hand.

Kento pleads ignorance as he slides the biscuit tin back into the cupboard, a glint in his eye.

Wickedly good at hide and seek. Teaches his grandson all the tricks.

Takes his grandson down to the river, Kento in some waders, his grandson in shorts and rubber boots up to his knees, with little nets, glass jars on strings.

Kento has a reference book for everything; birds, fish, flowers, trees...he and his grandson catch minnows, his grandson splashing, holding his little round cheeks in joy.

Kento thinks his heart might burst, retaliating playfully when his grandson splashes him, giggling.

Kento's grandson is well-versed on the flora and fauna by the little river, by the time he is a grown man. All he wanted to inherit from his grandfather was the old reference books they pored over together.

His grandson inherits Kento's Cursed-sight too, a truth which Kento feels deeply responsible for, as he did when it passed down to his daughter. He fears for his grandson and the terrifying visions he will see in the world.

One day, you catch Kento teaching himself little magic tricks. He curses as he gets tangled in long colourful handkerchiefs; you laugh and blush as he pulls garish flowers out of his sleeve for you. He shows them to his grandson like he has known how to do magic his whole life.

After long sunny days in the garden and by the river, you often find Kento asleep with his snoozing grandson drooling on his chest. You take a photo, every single time, put a blanket over them and leave them in peace.

Kento, who tucks you under his arm on the sofa when they've all gone home, your evenings as intimate as they have always been.

Kento would rather his daughter didn't spend all of her hard-earned money on daycare. Instead, Grandpapamin arrives at her house at 7:30am sharp, ready to babysit ahead of the workday.

The days are silly, wholesome. Tears and tantrums are swiftly, calmly de-escalated. Kento can and will persuade and bribe at mealtimes.

Kento who is just disappointed when his grandson behaves badly-- and that is so much worse than angry.

Kento who takes such good care of his and your health, determined to spend as many healthy years with his family as possible. His old scars ache and creak though; he longs for the sun and sea.

The next year, his grandson is big enough to carry Kento's birthday cake to him, and Kento grumbles, pink-eared as he mulishly accepts a chorus of "Happy birthday". There is an envelope with the cake.

"What's this?" He grumbles again, shooting his daughter a chastising look, "I told you you didn't have to get me anything." She smiles at him, lovely brown eyes twinkling. Kento looks inside-- tickets. Flight tickets. He looks up in surprise, eyebrows raised.

"Kuantan?" He presses, excited despite his earlier chastisement.

"I thought we could all go. Together."

Though his blade hangs up on the wall, proud and displayed, at your insistence, Kento feels like he has been bestowed with the luck of the gods, to have dodged every bullet to get here.

His old scarred burns tingle and prickle, his eyepatch is old and worn, but his grandchildren never feared him; he is just Grandpapamin. He bakes. He takes them to the river. He teaches them how to whittle. He gives the best advice. He wears the softest cardigans.

Kento, who spends the golden years of his life with you, his world, the one who hung the stars.

#jjk #kento nanami #jjk nanami #kento nanami x you #nanami fluff #kento nanami x y/n #jujustu kaisen #kento nanami x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami kento #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami x y/n #nanami x reader #nanami x you

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kyeomsense · 6 months

Text

svt hyung line’s reaction to surprise kisses

felt like i needed to write tonight so here we go!!

svt x gn!reader, all fluff (again x2)

wc: ~800

read the maknae line ver

seungcheol

he’s distracted when you strike. he’s doing the dishes, scrubbing away at the grimy plates when he jumps from a small peck on the back of his neck. as you attempt to escape, he tears off the comically large rubber gloves and chases after you. when he catches you, he basically wrestles you into a hug, laughing as you whine and playfully hit his chest. he doesn’t let you go until after he finishes pressing a loving kiss on your lips and leaving a few love bites on your neck.

jeonghan

jeonghan isn’t the type to let things go easily. so when you pretend he has a bit of shaving cream left on his face only to kiss his jaw and dash off, he’s already formulating a plan to get revenge. at jun’s birthday party the next day, he purposely brushes his cupcake a bit too close to your face. when he offers to help you clean up, he presses his mouth to your cheek and kisses the frosting off, laughing as you go red in front of your friends.

joshua

you mess with joshua, you get what’s coming to you. you surprise him in the pool, while he’s lounging on the sidelines for a bit and sipping on a juice box. you leap at him from under the water, splash him, and press a chaste kiss on his nose before diving under once more and swimming off. he returns the favor after a couple hours, when you’re standing by the poolside. he asks for your hand, which you happily give in order to prevent him from completely turning into a prune. he’s waited hours for this moment. with a strong tug, he yanks you into the pool and catches you in his arms, laughing and peppering kisses along your pouty face.

junhui

when you surprise him with a soft kiss to his cheek, he immediately wraps his arms around you and locks you in place. he smirks. and then he starts to tickle. he doesn’t stop, no matter how many times you try to use the excuse that you’re going to pee yourself if he keeps going. he continues to torture you, taunting you and getting payback for the lack of a proper kiss. for a moment, you think you actually are going to pee yourself, but he stops before you do and stares at you expectantly. you sigh teasingly. there’s only one way out of being tickled to death by jun. with a huff, you press a long kiss to his lips, feeling him rest his arms around you and melt into the kiss.

soonyoung

the two of you are in the middle of a duet, dancing lazily. he doesn’t notice your mischievous smile for the longest time, completely focused on the movements and the choreography. when there’s a moment in the dance where the two of you are facing each other closely, you suddenly rush forward and press a quick kiss to his lips. he breaks, body refusing to move even as the song continues on. when the choreographer asks him what’s wrong, he flushes red and tries to play it off. he requests a break and playfully scolds you the entire time, even with his reddened face in his hands.

wonwoo

in the middle of his league game, wonwoo suddenly feels a set of lips meet his cheek. he doesn’t seem to be affected, only reacting with a soft hum. his hands and eyes stay focused on the screen. you huff, suspecting that he’s immune to your surprises. after his game ends, while you’re laying on the couch reading your favorite book, he pulls the book out of your hands, shoves the bookmark in, and dives onto the couch with you. the two of you spend the next hour cuddling and kissing. you learn that he won his league game after he doubled down and sped through his lane, motivated by your kiss.

jihoon

while he’s bopping his head to one of the tracks he put together, you press a quick kiss to his temple. he’s surprised. he didn’t even know that you were in the room, thanks to bumzu leaving the door slightly ajar for you on his way to the bathroom. you laugh when he reacts, eyes wide and mouth open. he’s happy to see you, and he’s certainly happy to receive a kiss. a smile blooms on his face and he pulls you in close for a hug before he unplugs his headphones and lets you listen in on his newest work.

a/n: ive been having the biggest writer��s block lately when it comes to some of the longer fics i’m writing.. but i just felt like i needed to write something, so have this! i’ll probably finish up a maknae line version later this week :]

#svt fluff #svt x reader #svt drabbles #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol x reader #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #joshua fluff #joshua x reader #jun x reader #jun fluff #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo x reader #woozi x reader #woozi fluff #hoshi fluff #hoshi x reader

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hyunnie04 · 2 months

Text

tender

lee know x reader, hurt/comfort | m.list

wc: 1.4k | warnings: themes of depression and struggling with mental health

a/n: this fic is a little self indulgent as i haven't been feeling great lately. so i hope this brings comfort to anyone who needs it ♡

you don’t remember how long you’ve been sitting in the tub. you’re sure your hands have pruned and wrinkled due to the prolonged time you have been in here, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

the sides of your head pulses as a migraine at the forefront of your temple starts to fully form. you had hoped a moment of reprieve in the bath would calm your nerves and ease your headache, but it had yet to do so.

the droplets fall slowly against your furrowed eyebrows and taut expression, dripping freely down on your chin and on the dewy expanse of your chest. both arms are splayed limply across the sides of the tub, staring blankly ahead at the white tiled walls above, unmoving.

the temperature was warm, too warm for your usual liking but you didn’t seem to mind today, welcoming the dull pain it brought. the white tiles that you’ve been staring at for what seemed like forever stared back at you.

the silence was deafening.

a lot has been on your mind lately. the restless and constant feeling of not being good enough and comparing yourself to others caused you to no longer find enjoyment in the things you used to love doing.

words that usually meant nothing had stuck themselves inside your head as well, dissecting every meaning when they had none. sleep did not come easily to you these nights, tossing and turning, failing to succumb into the comforting arms of sleep.

isolation became your company in these moments, withdrawing yourself from everything. missing out on a lot of stuff, in turn, made you feel worse than you already did.

you knew you should probably tell someone about your problems but you just couldn't find it in yourself to do it. the last thing you wanted to be was a bother.

some days are admittedly better than others, where you’re able to get things done, to do your obligations and continue on with life like normal. but when you least expect it, it creeps up on you, pulling you back into that unhealthy head space.

you tried to force these thoughts and feelings down for a long time, pretending that everything was fine. today was apparently the day it all came rising up, unable to keep a lid on your bubbling emotions.

a sense of dread hung over your head, eyes aching from all the crying you did. wet strands of hair had clumped together, obscuring your view, perturbed by how sometimes your skin doesn't feel like yours.

“y/n?”

the bathroom starts to fog with mist, clouding the glass and mirrors, the water slowly scalding your skin. the call to sink down into the water and never come up are louder than ever.

“-y/n? are you in there?” a voice makes itself known. lifting yourself up a little bit, startled at the faintest sound of knocks.

you forget that minho would be home around this time. a hand flies towards your forehead to ease the pounding pain. shit, you haven't started making dinner.

it takes a while before you answer, collecting yourself as to not sound as shaky. “yeah! just finishing up, i'll be out in a sec.”

“don’t get out, i'll join you.” he yells back, the sound of padding feet against the wooden floors reverb through out the apartment. your eyes flicker at his sudden decision, causing you to sigh and sink down into the water once more.

as much as you adored and love him and how most days would let him join you with no hesitation, you silently hoped that he wouldn't today. you couldn't bear to let him see you in this state, all disheveled and puffy eyed. but it was rare when he was even home, given his grueling schedule.

so you wait for him patiently to come over to your shared bathroom, hugging your legs tightly. you remember to turn the cold tap on and off before he enters, water droplets filling in the silence.

when he finally creaks open the door with nothing on but a bathrobe and a silly cat headband that kept his hair away from his forehead on, you can't help but smile even if it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

you inch farther into the corner, making space for him quietly as he gets in. if he had noticed the temperature of the water that had yet to cool down, he made no attempt to comment.

the two of you don't say anything for the time being, just in each other's corner, relaxing and leaning your arms on the cool edge of the tub.

“you’re quiet.” his voice echoes. minho’s voice cuts through the silence, a stark contrast to the quietness of the bathroom just moments ago.

“i’m sorry.”

feeling minho’s heavy unwavering gaze into the side of your head, you can’t help but feel awful. you don’t mean to be so curt with him, but any more words from your mouth frightens you, afraid that the underlying shakiness of your voice will give you away.

your eyes still keep averting his, afraid of what expression he might bore. will he look at you with pity? with a tired gaze of disappointment?

he does not. instead, minho grabs one of the lavender scented shampoo bottles placed neatly on the shelf and gestures for you to turn around. you follow his request, albeit apprehensively, turning around.

“there we go.” he says. even if you refuse to meet his eyes, you could tell he was smiling as he said it.

minho takes great care to shampoo your hair, his blunt nails gently raking over your scalp, unknowingly soothing your dreadful headache. minho is observant, very much so. it doesn’t surprise you at all anymore when he suddenly asks.

“what’s wrong, hmm?” he finally says amidst the stillness of the atmosphere, tone dripping of comfort as his hands continue to lightly massage through your soapy tresses. you lean into it like a desperate cat, melting at his simple touch. oh how you've yearned for his touch.

although you don’t answer, his intuitive nature already knows that something was amiss.

“you know i’m always here for you.” minho says, pressing a delicate kiss on your shoulder. his sweet words and murmurs of comfort act like a salve to your aching heart as tears start to gather at your lash line once again.

you always hated making him worry.

the overwhelming emotion brings you to tears, immense guilt ebbing at your seams. minho places his head on your shoulder as you cry, hands running up and down your sides in an attempt to soothe you.

he doesn't deserve this, to be left out, to not know the reason you're so distant lately. he trusted you and you trusted him. so you spill every little thing to him.

voice starting to rasp, your stuttering cries now unrestraint without fear of judgement and just allowing yourself to be vulnerable. salty tears start to meld together with the water in the tub, rippling as they fall. at last, you feel lighter. the weight that you carried for so long in your heart doesn't have to be carried alone.

after a while, the hiccupping in your throat and the tears start to subside, leaving you a sniffling mess. turning around to finally face him, you fought the urge to hide in your hands.

"feel a little better now?" minho looks at you with nothing but a loving smile, no underlying judgement, just adoration, and one that makes you dive into him. you feel so utterly loved, what did you do to deserve him?

your arms wrap around his neck, placing apologetic kisses on his lips. he reciprocates, hands going around your back to steady your form. your mouth tumbles out watery apologies as he caresses the skin of your nape, gentle as he can.

you release him, arms still hooked around his neck, looking deeply into his eyes as if he's the center of the universe, and to you, he is. "i love you." the edges of your vision cloud with the tell tale signs of drowsiness, finally finding it in yourself to relax in his hold.

and he lets you, guiding your head to rest on his broad chest, the steady beats of his heart thumping against your temple, grounding you, his feathery light touches lingering.

feelings like these come and go, but minho is a constant that you keep close to your heart.

“thank you for putting up with me.”

"of course, i love you too."

#lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x you #skz imagines #lee know skz #stray kids angst #lee know angst #skz angst #skz x you

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faetreides · 4 days

Note

Modern coryo whos trying to sorta maybe manipulate his gf by being obsessed and then not reading her texts for 3 days but the gf is literally the same so it’ll be like

r: “heyyy” and then a day later he replies “heyaaa” and then it goes on like that for a week until he cracks and sends her 15 messages in the span of 4 minutes

cw: feminization/fem label “gf” but the reader is still only intended to be afab, the ask has she/her pronouns but i don’t use them in the writing, manipulation and toxic behavior, typical coryo/modern!coryo warnings, love bombing, not canon to the main au, black cat reader ish, reader has a shower in their dorm bc i say so 🤫, male masturbation

Now Coryo wouldn’t do this during your relationship, despite his best attempts to play it cool, you make him panic and he’s immediately resorting to rich boy love bombing (trips, those ridiculously expensive boxed roses, 999999999 rounds of oral on his yacht, a summer house, etc.) followed by baby trapping. He’s not stupid enough to try something like that deeper into your relationship, for him it’s about making sure the foundation is as solid as possible and not shaking it up.

This would really only happen before you even start dating, after he’s bumped into you in the dorms enough times to wear you down into giving him your number. He’s still in his “i have to the most mysterious person alive” mindset and he hasn’t quite shed the fuckboy persona yet. He doesn’t seek anybody out or anything, it was love at first sight with you unfortunately, he’ll just imply that that you’re another contact in a long list. (You’re the only one in his favorites 💀)

You’re smart enough to be wary, too involved in academics and proving yourself to go sniffing around Coriolanus Snow. You don’t really talk to a lot of people, and you’re not interested in a swarm of meaningless interactions. You’re just grateful that he stopped calling you so much, learning that you very much prefer texting. He’s the king of the “hey u up?” text, and you have the flattest look on your face as you reply “Yes.” and turn your phone face down. Exchanges like happen over and over.

Does your heart flutter when he insists on walking you to class and pecking your cheek at the door? Yes but you’ll roll your eyes and make a big deal out of wiping it off. Are you intrigued by how much he hauls ass to get you your coffee order whenever he senses that you need it (because he can, he’s like spiderman but lame)? Well, yes, but he must be playing some kind of game with you. Has a cliche bet with his fraternity brothers over your assumed virginity maybe. The more you’re determined to not fall for it, the more you find yourself slipping as the days go by.

Just when you turn your head when he pecks your cheek outside the lecture hall, expecting the gesture more than dreading it, he gives you a blank stare and turns on his heel. You take a second to blink and then shrug, it’s no skin off you back if Coriolanus decides to be normal for once. You definitely do not have a bit of a scowl throughout the entire session. (he nearly lost it when you didn’t react at the lack of a kiss, he kicked the wall and almost broke his foot)

He’s back to the “heyy” texts at random hours, responding to your “Hey.” that came a day later two days after that. He’s screaming into his pillow and pacing his grandma’am’s gardens, glaring at the staff pruning the shrubs. Coryo would rather die than admit defeat though, so he hardens his resolve. You’ll break eventually. You on the other hand are living normally, slurping ramen and working on essays. You’ve learned not get your hopes up over a pipe dream, the idea that someone like him would genuinely care about you being so laughable that you get over it rather quickly. You may be from different economic classes, but a man’s attention is never a necessity. That an he’s far from the only trust fund kid in the world.

A week later, your phone goes off in the middle of the night. You step out of the shower and dry yourself off, walking over to your bed and picking it up. To your surprise, the notification from Coriolanus isn’t another dry message, it’s several videos. They all look dark and fuzzy, ranging from 30 seconds to 10 minutes. In some of the thumbnails you can see flashes of bare skin. You click on the first one and are immediately faces with Coriolanus Snow’s sweaty abs.

You’re frozen as he eventually splatters jizz all over them, the camera work is shaky and the flash exposes too much for your liking. You can see his abdominal muscles twitch in the aftermath of his orgasm. He drags his fingers through his own cum and smears it over the camera, giving you a pov of what it’d be like to have your face covered in it.

Your phone chimes again.

Stalker: turn the sound on for the rest ;) see u at the car wash next friday, babe ❤️

You block him (after you save the videos and check the charge on your vibrator).

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fangsandfeelings · 1 month

Text

There’s a first time for everything

After a long day of fighting for your life and attempting to save the known world, you decide to let yourself indulge in a bath at The Elf Song. Naturally, you leave your clothes on the floor of your room, out in the open….. where anyone could…..stumble upon them…..

—————————

Astarion sauntered down the hallway to your room. You had all gotten back not too long ago, so he thought he could sneak a late night chat with you before lights out. He mindlessly pushed the door open, already opening his mouth to start about how Wyll had gotten on his last nerve when he paused, you weren’t in your bed where you usually were this time of night. He immediately felt a surge of anxiety, but pushed it down, remembering that the most likely solution is not that you got kidnapped my your murderous kin, no. It must be something much more mundane than that.

He narrowed his eyes, looking into the darkest corners of the room, trying to perceive any traces of movement or suspicious activity, but nothing. Just as he was about to turn around and try another room in the tavern, he spied a precocious little pile in the middle of your floor. He doesn’t know how he missed it on his entry, but he certainly is intrigued now by the little peek of strappy, iridescent fabric he can see. He quietly pads over to the mound, his dead heart stirring a little, as if wanting to beat faster knowing what he’s about to get up to. Kneeling down, he lightly grabs at the piece that’s been eyeing him to find it is indeed your darling panties, just sitting here all alone…..

Astarion stares at the fabric in his hands, contemplating whether or not he should be disgusted or proud with the thoughts of lust that are running rampant through his mind. Is this a breach of privacy? Surely not, you’ve shown and given him things much more intimate than a pair of your panties. Before he can start to talk himself out of it, he raises the delicate fabric closer to his face. He can already smell your warm scent as it wafts towards him. Slowly, he lets himself raise his hand until your panties are held across his nose and mouth, and he greedily breaths in your scent. Gods…. He can feel himself already getting hard against the waist band of his trousers. He figures should probably take care of this…after all, you’re nowhere to be found…

~~~~~~~

You hear his footsteps as he crosses the threshold of your room, and you smile gently at the fact that you’ve memorized what his footsteps sound like. You sit still, waiting for him to either join you or at least say hello before heading to bed, but after his initial footsteps you hear nothing. You close your eyes and lean your head back against the rim of the bath tub, allowing yourself to relax for one more moment before calling him over, when you hear rustling, and a quiet but full breath, as if someone was breathing through…. fabric? You sneakily peer through a torn hole in the bath tub curtain, and you spy your beautiful pale elf, kneeling in the middle of your room, with a handkerchief across his fine features. No wait, you squint until you realize that the handkerchief is in fact your panties, and Astarion is getting utterly lost in them. You hear him softly groan and your eyes flick down to his trousers, where his cock strains against his waistband. You swallow, and feel yourself clench around nothing, just at the thought of Astarion being so around by you that even your underwear would warrant such a reaction from him. You’re stunned into watching him, not caring if the bath water turns to ice and your fingers and toes turn to prunes.

~~~~~~

Astarion sits and leans against the foot of your bed, panties still in hand, while he quickly undoes the lacing at the front of his trousers. He allows himself a soft sigh when his cock springs free, and is sure he imagines hearing a small gasp as it hits his stomach. He couldn’t care less at this point, making himself feral by only breathing in the smell of you. He moans when his hand wraps around his cock, but quickly stifles himself with your panties again. He enjoys a few slow strokes at first, his eyes rolling into the back of his head from the sheer ecstasy of his situation. He never in his 200 years would’ve guessed that he would be so enamored by another person that he would partake in such actions, but here he was, and it was exquisite.

He moved faster on his cock, feeling his balls grow tighter. Holy shit, was he this close to cumming already?

He let himself moan into your underwear, getting slightly lightheaded now from having it so closely pressed to his nose. His issue was however easily solved by using his tongue to pull the fabric into his mouth. He felt two little tears as he bit down to stifle even more moans trying to escape from his throat. He figured if he ruined this pair, he’d buy you 100 more, it was certainly worth the gold.

Another flick of his tongue had his tasting you on the now wet fabric. Sending him over the edge, reeling, pressing his head against your footboard and biting down on your pretty panties in his mouth. A long sound, he wasn’t sure whether it was fully a growl or groan ripped from his throat, barely quieted by the delicate fabric.

As he came down from his high, he pulled your underwear away from his face, glancing down at himself to survey the damage he caused with this little escapade. He had indeed torn two fang sized tears in the middle. Maybe he could embroider his name instead of buying you new pairs, he thought. That way if anyone were to see it they would know exactly who had made the holes in the first place. The one who had made a very similar set of pretty holes in your beautiful neck. He was only pulled from his thoughts by your voice from across the room,

“That was my favorite pair you know” you said, slightly hoarse from watching the events that had just played out. You let a smirk creep onto your face as he stared at you in shock.

Not one to be outdone, Astarion only let the shock show for a second before falling into a beautifully devious smile, holding up the ripped fabric with his fingers.

“Oh, darling, I think I can say the same. Don’t worry though pet, I’ll gladly stitch my name into them. It won’t take but a few days” your eyes went wide at the thought of feeling the stitching as you walked, knowing it was his name that was constantly touching you. You silently nodded, and he gave you a low chuckle in response.

“Looks like you could use a bath” you said to him softly, and he didn’t waste a second before peeling off his clothes and getting no into the bath with you.

“So when’s my turn?” You said to him, smiling innocently. He kissed you gently on your mouth, moving then to your neck,

“Whenever you please darling, your every wish is my command.”

—————-———

Here’s your second fic! Feel free to give me suggestions/feedback :))

#astarion x reader #astarion x original female character #fantasy smut #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x the dark urge #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x female oc

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semisolidmind · 5 months

Note

i know it's all about the lion's den AU rn and as usual I am FEASTING on the content (excuse the crumbs) but there's an idea that won't leave me alone-

what if Peaches was not human, but an immortal from the beginning? How much would change? I know the whole appeal of these AUs - I mean, that's why I love them and I absolutely love this lil corner of the fandom. but I've been kinda diving into the whole immortality biz in Chinese myths for my oc, so now I'm curious.

Peaches could be someone cultivating and practicing Xian (i hope I'm using that right) for years, or consumed pills/elixir of immortality somehow, or a demon who is oddly very kind and empathetic - would the bois still love her just as much? How different is the dynamic now even if Peaches retains her core personality traits?

love your work! and hydrate before ya diedrate

ive been thinking about this, and i kinda like the idea of immortal reader being an attendant of the heavenly peach orchard.

not super high up the ladder, but not at the bottom either. her powers are limited to helping plants grow just a little bit, creating temporary barriers, and being able to float the way all celestials can. the higher-ups figure that since no one is bold or stupid enough to steal from heaven, they don’t need any extra security in the immortal peach groves.

you can take a guess as to how reader meets the monkeys.

they show up to the orchards, ready to fight their way to the peaches, but instead of some overpowered celestial soldiers guarding the orchard, it's....one immortal maiden. just the one. but she doesn't seem all that powerful, soooooo...

...maybe she'd agree to let them take a few without too much trouble?

the monkey bros go the "oh don't mind us we're just a couple of cute lil monkeys, here to cause adorable and harmless mischief" route in their approach to getting reader to let her gaurd down.

they approach her while she takes a break from pruning some dead branches. she's understandably surprised and suspicious about these two seemingly normal monkeys who've snuck in, but... they are pretty cute. and tame; they let her pet them and give them scritches. perhaps they're one of the heavenly official's pets. reader supposes that they can stay for a while.

wukong and macaque play their parts, get reader's guard down, and steal a couple dozen peaches each. reader notices, but there's not much she can do beyond shooing the monkeys out with a broom (and her soft heart barely allows her to do that). she knows that if she reports it, those cute lil monkeys will be hunted down and killed.

she supposes she could put in a request for higher walls around the grove, or more barriers (she still wonders how the boys managed to get through the first ones), but with how slowly things get done in the bureaucracy...it'd be a very, very long time until it was even brought up in court.

besides, even then....they're monkeys. animals. she won't place blame on them for being what they are. those little cuties probably had no idea that the immortal peaches were any different from the ones on earth.

she could never stay mad at their adorable lil faces anyways.

---

reader, despite what you might think, has a pretty laid back job. once all her chores for the day have been completed (those magic trees don't really need much beyond the essentials to do their thing), she has a good amount of free time to sit and, you guessed it—read.

macaque (because of course, he has to be the first one to fall in every au) decides, on a bored whim, to go visit that nice attendant they stole from not too long ago. perhaps he'll collect some intel while he's up there.

he finds her after a bit of searching. reader sits in a secluded corner of the grove, leisurely turning pages and enjoying the shade. macaque, still disguised, sidles up to her. reader notices, seeming surprised to see him before her face morphs into... a rather adorable pout. perhaps she thinks she's being intimidating.

'damn, no wonder the bureaucracy didn't think they needed any more security,' macaque thinks sarcastically. such a fearsome maiden they've chosen to guard the immortal peaches.

while reader takes a minute to admonish him about stealing, it isn't long before she sighs and gives up on her lecture in favor of scratching him gently behind his ears. he churrs low in his chest. her whole demeanor is as soft and sweet as the peaches she guards (her hands as well, he notes, pressing into them).

macaque laughs internally. a fearsome maiden, indeed.

macaque manages to wiggle his way into reader's lap, pulling her attention from her book. she knows she should be trying to scare him off, but...just—just look at him! he's so cute, and she's too pulled in by how cute he is to notice the oddly powerful aura he seems to exude (far too powerful to be a normal monkey). he enjoys her touch for a while longer before he hears the far-off call of his annoying brother, wondering where he is. he bumps his head into reader's hand by way of goodbye before running off to shadow away more secretively.

reader watches him go, sighing. she really should shoo him away next time.

---

macaque keeps coming back. and reader continues to be unable to kick him out.

with very few visitors and no one else to talk to, reader begins to tell him everything that she overhears during the day; the officials don't think anyone is listening when they air out their gossip as they walk by the orchard. she doesn’t know it, but she’s saving macaque the energy of using his powers to gather this intel on his own.

the six-eared demon makes a habit of showing up to the grove to laze around with his favorite maiden and listen to her read, using “spying” as the excuse he gives his brother for why he's been running off so often. reader seems to have accepted that he won't be leaving her alone any time soon, and he takes full advantage. macaque comes to think of reader and the secluded corner of the grove as his own little peice of heaven.

of course, sooner or later, wukong joins in. he's a bit angry that macaque didn't just say he was visiting the peach orchard and it's attendant; he wouldn't have minded, he would've come with! macaque doesn't bother trying to explain that he didn't want to share.

but share he does, seeing as wukong greedily takes all the attention from reader he can get. the monkey king finds himself enamored with the maiden who's hands and heart are as soft as the fruits she tends to. he won't admit it (it may hurt his carefully crafted "ruthless demon king" image if he did), but wukong is a cuddle bug when it comes to reader. everything about her is just so soft, and she's so kind, and she always smells like peaches—he could spend hours laying on her chest as she reads.

he just feels so...peaceful, with her.

the boys are entangled in reader's life, visiting whenever they can and butting into whatever she happens to be doing. they see her day to day happiness (brief conversations with the lower maids she's friends with), and her struggles (the two monkeys bore witness to the officials taking their anger out on reader over something trivial, their rage towards heaven growing stronger). the two grow more and more attached to her as time goes on.

and so they begin to work a small abduction into the grander scheme of their plan.

---

sooner or later, the monkey warlords properly raid heaven. they and their demon army storm the jade palace, murdering servants, footsoldiers, and as many officials as they can. the monkey king and the six-eared macaque lead a massacre so bloody it stains the palace walls red. wukong especially holds back none of his rage, getting caught up in his hatred for heaven and zealously continuing to shed as much celestial blood as he can.

during a lull in the chaos, macaque, covered in vicera, makes his way to the immortal peach grove. with the battle coming to a close and the demon forces being driven back, now is as good a time as ever to snatch up a special “peach” for himself and his brother.

he finds said peach preoccupied with a gallant attempt at protecting herself and a few lower maids from a demon soldier, using a series of barriers. the soldier breaks the barriers almost as fast as reader can make them, rapidly pushing her and her companions into a corner. reader puts up a brave fight, but she's a celestial attendant, not a celestial warrior.

macaque calls out to the soldier, halting their attack and telling them to regroup with the others and prepare to move out. the soldier complies, crassly assuring the women that they’re about to be nothing more than bloody pulp on the garden wall. no one has ever gone against the shadow general of the demon army and lived.

macaque waits until the soldier is out of sight before leisurely approaching the still quivering group of maids and their determined, but exhausted looking guard. reader tenses as he steps closer. she feels a horrible sense of dread crawl down her spine when she gets a good look at him.

the dark fur, the shape of the mask marking on his face...reader feels tears start to bead at the corners of her eyes.

this entire time, she'd been petting and coddling the six-eared macaque. the second in command of the dreaded demon army has been sitting right in front of her and she had no idea. reader can barely keep her breathing steady.

and if this is her dark-furred companion, then the lighter-furred one must be…oh stars.

…she let the monkey king in.

she practically threw open the doors for him. she didn’t report them when she should have, she knew there was something strange about them but she was so sure they were just normal animals—oh stars above, if the jade emperor ever discovered this, she’d be executed.

but…but reader steels herself. she can deal with that later. her friends are counting on her.

now, she’s certainly not expecting the blood-covered demon general across from her to be open to bargaining (he could just kill all of them now, but reader gets the feeling he wouldn't be merciful enough to end it quickly). and he knows exactly what leverage he has over her, she can see it in the smug look on his face.

but she tries anyways.

“let them go, please,” she begs breathlessly, arms shaking from the strain of maintaining her magic. the least she can do is buy her friends a moment more. “do whatever you want with me, but they are blameless.”

macaque chuckles, the sound reverberating lowly between the trees. whatever he wants, huh? oh, sweet peach. she should know better than to give him so much leeway.

“that is tempting. if that’s the case, then perhaps you’ll go with me willingly,” he muses, tail swaying slowly. his fangs glint dangerously when he smirks.

“don’t fight, and no harm will come to them. that, and your secret will be safe with me. honest."

reader doesn’t believe him. she can’t, but she and her friends are so low priority that calling for help would be useless. if the demon army has been as effective as the screaming would lead her to believe, the celestial host has much bigger problems than rescuing a gardener and some lowly maidservants. and with the chance that she’ll be seen through and blamed for every gory death that's happened beyond the walls of the peach groves...

she doesn’t have a choice.

reader slowly, cautiously lowers her barriers, despite the worried cries of the maids behind her. they cower closer together as reader takes a slow step closer to macaque.

with a flick of his wrist, reader is struck by a sleeping spell so potent she falls into macaque's waiting arms like a lead weight. the demon gathers his beloved into his hold with a gentleness that doesn't fit his gory visage.

he sinks into a shadow, leaving the maids to clutch each other and cry at the loss of reader and the near loss of their own lives.

---

reader wakes up days later in the royal bedchambers of the stone palace. she startles at seeing the monkey king and the six-eared macaque laying on either side of her, stripped to just a loose pair of pants each. she herself has been changed to a comfortable silk robe, her own clothing nowhere to be seen.

reader feels a cold sludge in her gut. she scrambles out of the pillow pit, kicking a few into the face of one of her captors as she goes. she checks herself over, looking for bite marks, claw marks, anything to indicate the two demons sharing a bed with her had violated her in any way. she looks, and breathes a heavy sigh.

she finds nothing.

"we figured we'd wait until you were awake to start marking territory," the tired, yet still somehow smug voice of the monkey king chimes from behind her. reader turns to see the demon leveling an amorous look her way. his gold and crimson eyes burn like fire in the low light.

reader ignores him in favor of falling to her knees and burying her face in her hands. now that she has a moment to think, her failure has decided to take centerstage; she was the one who let the monkey king into the jade palace, she let him steal the immortal peaches, she's the one who carelessly shared all the gossip that told them when the best time to attack would be, she's to blame for all the lives lost—

"hey. y'know we would've raided heaven even if we hadn't met you, right? it's not your fault," macaque says, propping his head in his hand to look at her. he doesn't have the decency to hide how he's sizing her up, poison purple eyes glowing whilst tracing her curves. reader shrinks into herself a bit more.

"yep. don't feel too bad, peaches. i was never gonna spare any of those bureaucrats in the first place," wukong adds. "and besides, none of those guys cared about you anyway, so why feel bad?"

reader sobs, pressing her hands to her eyes. she knows. she knows how callous the officials could be, but that doesn't mean they deserved to die. it doesn't mean the servants and foot soldiers who were only following orders deserved their fates.

she hears movement, then feels a set of strong, furred arms wrap around her. wukong rests his head on her shoulder. he nuzzles his nose against her neck. she feels his warm breath and the glance of deadly sharp fangs when he speaks.

"they didn't deserve the mercy you seem to think they did."

---

wukong places a seal on reader's powers. what little defense she had against them is gone with the placement of a brand-like marking in between her shoulder blades (and a few more along her shoulders made with his teeth).

reader can't do anything. wukong won't let her leave, and even if she could, the heavenly court will have her executed if she goes back. so, she remains on the monkey king's mountain.

she didn't think she'd share a fate with the precious fruit she'd failed to protect.

#bad end wukong #twice as bad au #immortal peach au #i guess??? cause shes an immortal???#this got waaay longer than expected #got tired and couldnt figure out how to end it #dialogue is hard

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whalesforhands · 3 months

Text

it exists only here

geto suguru holds onto your ghost in the trivial silence of the night.

HBD GETO SUGURU

“Geto-sama, you have an audience with an Amano Kiriko and her father in approximately 30 minutes.”

The cult leader doesn’t say a word, the stalk of pink carnation getting nicked a little too close to its petals for his comfort, his pruning shears threatening the beauty of the flora in his hand.

He thought he had it this time.

Now it’s too short. The osmanthus flowers he had spent so much time intricately placing together will go to waste… Dumb rocks and leaves that took way too long to work in harmony with each other. He sighs, frustration coursing through his tensed arms whilst staring down at the already ruined flower despite the beauty it still retained. It just didn’t fit in well with the image he had in mind. So beautiful, yet so useless now.

Should he just redo it? Amethyst orbs follow the stalk up to where it’s now currently being held up to the hanging lamp light, whiffs of its sweet scent reaching his nose as he glares. He ponders and ponders, his eyes closing to savour the fragrance.

So sweet.

“Tell Amaya-san we’re postponing. I’m busy.” Can’t you see how preoccupied he is with this? It obviously takes precedence over some worthless monkey.

A little more suffering won’t do them any harm.

The silence drags, yet Manami Suda does not break the tense stillness any further, does not even correct her superior on his mispronunciation. What use is there for him to remember a mere monkey’s name?

“Understood, Geto-sama. I will move your meeting back by 40 minutes.” She bows low, her gaze kept towards the ground before she turns on her heel and makes her way out, shiny hair bouncing with every step as she makes it a point to close the door behind her as gently, as silently possible.

It seems that her handsome boss is having one of those days again.

A quiet creak of his door and heel clicks that disappear with distance until they were no more.

It’s now that he realizes he’s alone again, silently staring down at the blush pink of the petals in his hand. He twirls the stalk over and over between his fingers as the silence stretches and stretches. It overwhelms him, his thoughts just a little too loud in the blaring quietude.

“Suguru, you don’t look well.” A warm hand against his forehead, your worried gaze and a soft voice. Touch shifting away and making him nearly chase after your comfort.

(Just for a little longer.)

“Have you been eating properly?” You’re sad, lips downturned into a frown that makes him regret ever looking so gaunt— So weak. He wants to placate you, wants to assure you.

“I’m fine—“

“Nope!” An interruption of an all too boisterous voice, lanky arms immediately hooking around both of you as you’re both pulled towards an all too excited Satoru. “So what say we go out and treat him some good ol’ soba?”

His head is starting to hurt again. A grit of his teeth and shears clattering onto the wooden table, frustrated sigh and slumping of his shoulders to ease this tension within his body. He doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to feel so… Bad.

It’s only then that his hands reach for the book that was upon the chabudai he sat at, trembling fingers finally making contact with the old paper, the slightly frayed pages easing the stress in his mind, the roar in his ears.

His fingers would trace well-worn, yellowed pages of an all too old shoujo manga, familiar pages that had a noticeable dent in them from how beloved they were by the previous owner. It takes him back, makes his hands reach into traces of the past. Away from this headache inducing present, away from his pain.

“There you are. I bought those famous Kiyoken shumai—“ He freezes in his tracks, his eyes widening and eyebrows raising in shock and worry when he chanced upon your teary gaze, your expression akin to a deer caught in headlights as you look at him with shiny, gemlike eyes and tears that had already spilled, rolling down your embarrassed cheeks.

He takes only a moment to recover, only silently walking forward to plop the plastic bag onto the dining table, giving you a quick once-over before patting your head, as you squeak in stunned surprise, his hand combing down your hair gently before he turns on his heel, steps heavy, quick and a threatening smile upon his face. He starts cracking his knuckles for good measure, his aura flaring into one of intimidation as he gets ready to beat a certain someone up.

“I’ll kill him.”

“S-Suguru— Wait! It’s not Satoru’s fault!” You’re already up on your feet, running to intercept him and grabbing onto his arm, using all your strength to hold him back as you feel your socked feet start to drag across the floor, his strength uninhibited by your attempt.

An innocent, accusatory lilt of his voice as he stops, turning to face you. “Oh? I don’t feel very merciful today—“

“I was crying because of a manga!” Blurted out with a shameful, humiliated voice, your arms hugging his one to your chest even tighter. Your eyes are squeezed shut as your face burns and burns with growing mortification that makes you want to curl up and die and possibility cry even more.

And that calms him down in an instant.

That memory still makes him chuckle, a hand under his chin as his eyes blink at the imagery formed in his head. Mindless flipping of the pages causes him to land on a scene that’s been bookmarked far too many times. He knows this line by heart.

“Till the stars fall down and empty from the sky—“ You sniffle, cutting yourself off and letting Suguru dab the tears treading down your cheeks as you don’t even try to resist, or even pull away from his thoroughly amused self.

“I-It’s just so romantic, okay…?!”

“Hmm?” His smile only seems to grow wider as he leans forth, handkerchief is abandoned in favour of using his thumb, gently tapping at the tears forming again in the corner of your eyes to tease you. “I wouldn’t really know if you don’t finish, will I?”

“B-but I’ll just cry—“ You quickly press his abandoned handkerchief to your nose, a sorry attempt at trying to drag your expressions away to quell the burning shame of having to face him. “Way more, Suguru…!”

“Cry all you want then.” His hand goes to hold your cheek, settling your face in his hand and chuckling as he pats your head, smiling softly, gently, warmly at the way you’re starting to bawl even harder somehow. “I’ll be here to wipe your tears away for you.”

A lock of his hair flitters in front of him, breaking him out of his nostalgic trance as a breeze blows in, as if caressing the strands with tender curiosity. A hand reaches up to thoughtlessly twirl it, amaranth eyes finally opening to bring himself back to reality.

Should he cut his hair soon?

“Suguru, you cut it?!” Satoru holds the boy’s face in his hands, shaking him back and forth and whining his disappointment. “Whyyyyyy?! How could you do that to our beautiful hair?!”

“Our…? Satoru, last I checked it was attached to my scal—“

“No…”

You’re devastated as you sat behind him, fingers slotted inbetween smooth strands that have now been slashed into shortened locks, trampling on your dreamy imagery of his gorgeous hair, your arms hugging around his waist from behind as your face buries into his shoulder to weep for the loss of his beauty.

“Our pretty hair…”

“…aren’t you both being a little overdramatic?”

He feels his heart shake, an ache that yearned to be eased when he opens his eyes to realize that he’s all alone. No matter how far those memories seemed to be, whenever he closed his eyes… It always seemed to be filled with an image of those precious days.

Steadying himself with a sigh and getting up onto his socked feet, he stretches his arms and lets his joints pop.

He should stop thinking about these things.

——

It’s fun.

Geto Suguru is having fun. A stutter in his chest, a fleeting feel in his heart as he exchanged blows. Different from those other students, so similar to that certain someone. Dodging, parrying, summoning, running, bleeding.

So fast. So purposeful in every hit, so unnatural, so talented.

Okkotsu Yuuta was the perfect sorcerer. A curse technique with so much potential, an aura of budding, endless possibilities. Why, oh, why does he still stand with the lesser beings, the lesser race?

His wooden clogs skid across concrete as he stands his ground, a smirk of condemnation and displeasure evident as he spits out a mouthful of blood and metallic ire.

He’ll show him. Show this boy the disparity of their power, the difference in their leagues of playing field as he wipes the remnants of crimson off his mouth, the stinging bruise upon his cheek from where he was bunched pulsating with an urge to destroy. To conquer.

“Cursed Spirit Manipulation: Supreme Art,” A taunting point of his finger upwards, crazed grin upon his face. Bear witness to his overwhelming strength, to his irrepressible supremacy. He doesn’t need anything else when he’s drunk off of power. “Uzumaki.”

Swirling black and daunting shadows form at his fingertip, echos of screams and damned cries of the beasts he’s consumed billowing within.

“Okkotsu,” His face is in a state of a proud, manic insanity, shivers of lustful victory trembling his bones. “I’m glad I could kill you before you managed to fully wield Orimoto Rika.”

This is it. Geto Suguru’s victory, the beginning of the end for this Jujutsu Society. Once this boy dies, he will absorb the Queen of Curses, he will be strong enough to finally change this wretched world for the better.

Would he be satisfied then? Would he finally feel that he’s avenged—

Okkotsu Yuuta doesn’t say a word, a shining determination in his gaze as his back is turned to his enemy, a tentative hand upon the curse that followed him as he called her name. The name of the girl he had known, had loved all this time.

“Rika.” A small whisper into the cursed being’s supposed ear. “I’ll give you everything,” A breath is taken. “My body, my heart, my soul…”

Geto Suguru wants to feel disgusted at the sight.

“I love you, Rika.”

The light hits the silver of the young boy’s ring, metal glinting and catching the attention of the cult leader who was kind enough to let that poor kid say his final words.

“Thank you for always protecting me.” It’s odd, repulsive, Suguru thinks as his ears catch wind of those sugary sweet lines. How warm those words feel, how they’re said with such a bittersweet mirth, how it’s almost like it resembles your—

“Suguru.” Your voice is quiet, your presence a fading comfort as he barely feels it within this empty room.

He feels a phantom warmth, a non-existent touch lightly caressing his cold, gaunt face. A contact that he doesn’t want to let up as his hands reach up only to feel nothingness and an unbearable lurch of his throat.

An aftertaste weighs heavy on his tongue, like a rag that had been used to wipe up vomit. Ringing in his ears as his nose feels clogged, nigh unbreathable. Does it even matter if he doesn’t reply? Will it matter if he tries to will away that distorted voice of yours?

Geto Suguru sees red, sees looming metal doors, hears the thundering jeers of a cult, hears a scream of your name, feels the building terror and anguish of his heart in full.

Feels like he doesn’t know why you’re here now.

Think, Suguru. Why are you of all people appearing right in this crucial moment? What do you want? What are you trying to do? What are you trying to say?

If you had one thing to say to him right now, what would it be?

“Thank you for falling in love with me.”

A sharp intake of air to snap himself out of it, the odd chorus of Yuuta’s voice and yours mixing and mashing up in his head, his pupils dilating and finally focusing back into the battle at hand. It isn’t like him to lose his focus like this. Isn’t like him to get so distracted by a haunting thought.

“Aren’t you quite the player, Okkotsu Yuuta?” His words end on an annoyed growl, a building temper to supplement the forgotten rage in his heart.

But this is what he wants, isn’t it?

“That’s rude.” Okkotsu Yuuta is deadpan, his face set in a tone of utmost sincerity and seriousness.

“This is true love.”

And Geto Suguru wonders if that’s what went wrong as he gets swallowed by an explosion of pink and white.

——

Geto Suguru thought he would at least go out with more grace. A little more flair, in a burst of Hollow Purple or a deep Red.

But not like this.

Not with his back against an alleyway wall, slid down to the ground in pathetic defeat, not whilst he’s missing an arm, bleeding out and searingly painful.

Not while Gojo Satoru stares him down like that in his final moments.

“You’re late,” He just can’t help the smile on his face that forms as his voice traces those beloved words after far too long. “Satoru.”

An exchange of words, their conversation that took place. From the safety of Suguru’s newfound family, to the battle with Satoru’s students… Suguru realizes that what was once his cold, hardened heart was starting to stir with nostalgia, a flutter in his chest that makes him want to get lost in this conversation for just a bit longer; even if the expression on Satoru’s face was blank, empty.

Even if he never smiled at him anymore.

So he takes his time, drawing out each word and sentence and mindless thought that had been churned into a flitter in his stomach that makes him think that it isn’t so bad to be on the losing end.

That it isn’t so bad that this is his end.

And when all was said and done, it goes silent. Comfortingly so in this bitter atmosphere that makes him forget about the stale iron in his mouth and his defeated heart that had nothing left to hide.

It’s hard to say that Geto Suguru was satisfied just yet.

“Do you… Still think I’m a good person?” It’s sudden, a taboo scab nobody, not even Geto himself had wanted to pick at. A wound that never quite gelled over. But— It’s fine because it’s here. It’s fine because it’s right now. Because these trivial, meaningless conversations are what make him feel whole, make him find meaning amongst all his doubt.

“Yeah.” A pause as the honoured one takes in a breath, the squeezing of his palms into tight fists as his glowing eyes begin to soften to shimmery radiance. “I bet she would still think so too.”

That’s not true. Geto Suguru feels, knows it just cannot be, no matter how much his broken heart yearns to believe it. It’s for that reason that he finally lets out a laugh, eyes turning into crescents to match his satisfied smile.

“I killed tons of innocent people, you know?”

There’s no way you would ever look at him the same way.

“You can go and ask her personally, then.” Gojo Satoru sounds so steady, so confident and brazen with his threat; that it sounds like a consolation to Geto Suguru, that it leaves him in utter disbelief at the man’s faith in him, his belief that a damned person like him would ever get to reunite with the likes of you.

Though, it brings him peace in this moment.

“Maybe I will.” It’s his final reassurance, stemming from a hope that he gets to be together with you once more, a last solace for his painful, aching soul in the silence that follows after.

“It’s disappointing, Satoru.”

His eyes blink as he leans his head back against the grimy wall, letting out a breath to soothe the staggering gnawing at his conscience. “That I couldn’t wear a heartfelt smile in this world anymore.”

Not when it turned out like this.

A beat passes, and yet another as Suguru finally feels his body beginning to crumble, vision starting to blur as he starts to see brightness in his dimming eyes. It’s okay. It’s okay now because—

It’s over.

He sees his beloved squat down, coming down onto this pitiful level to meet eyes with him. What is he—

Sincere blue to fading purple, parting lips that start mouthing words that he didn’t think he deserved to hear. He knows that goodbyes are bitter, that he’ll never be ready enough to hear them.

That he’ll never be able to accept that you’re gone.

Yet, even as it reaches into his ears, he didn’t expect the weight, the pressure that makes the tiniest semblance of regret swirl in his heart, slowly realized into a wish that he could rewind time to hear Satoru’s voice that teeters upon a breaking sorrow once more. Just one more time.

“We’ll meet again, right?”

Geto Suguru can only laugh, letting amusement enshroud his expression as his neck cranes towards the light in which his one and only Gojo Satoru shrouded. It’s so stupid, so in character for someone like him.

“At least curse me a little at the end.”

This is how he wants to go. There’s nothing else he wants to long for now… Not the Queen of Curses, not the utter desire to destroy non-sorcerers, not the bloodthirsty revenge and grudge he held against the Jujutsu system— He just wants to feel at peace from the hands of his other half.

This is it.

“Take care of her until I get there.” Wherever you both end up, his final message and blessing from just Satoru to just Suguru. A responsibility given to him that Gojo hopes comes true. All because he hopes it’s peaceful where you both were, that it relieves you both of the hope that made you hurt more.

Suguru’s parting smile is bittersweet, a blush upon his face as enchanting purple finally hide away, finally put to rest with the last of his cursed energy dissipating. A ‘goodbye’ is something he’s no good at, a ‘see you later’ far too unfulfilling. He wishes he could find kinder words as he lets his heart speak his truth, breathed out in a whisper so tender.

“Don’t be late again, Satoru.”

previous next

Notes:

Pink carnations: I’ll never forget you.

Osmanthus flowers: True love.

‘Till the stars fall down and empty from the sky, if you’re with me then everything’s alright.’ - Everything’s Alright from To the Moon (nvy’s favourite game)

#dyf au #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk angst #geto angst

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Text

Chapter 3

of this post / Chapter 2 / read it all on ao3 Here

Steve was warm.

He was also naked in a bath that belonged to Eddie.

It was a nice bath, much larger than the one he and Robin rarely used, and full of bubbles that smelled like peppermint.

Eddie told him it would help keep him awake, but also help him stay relaxed.

He was right.

He was also currently making Steve a grilled cheese (his favorite) and letting him listen to music through his phone speaker (his relaxing playlist that he used for his paperwork hours at home). He’d made sure the bath was hot, but not scalding the way Steve usually had it. He didn’t leave the room until Steve was laying in the bath, head resting against the towel Eddie set up along the edge, eyes closed to keep his senses dulled. According to Eddie, that was really important.

He’d lit a few candles and kept them on the side of the sink, then shut off the light before leaving to make Steve’s sandwich.

Steve was still completely unable to speak.

That was more than a little unnerving.

He knew what he needed and wanted to say, but nothing came out.

But he trusted Eddie for some reason. He’d unpack that later.

Maybe.

Probably not.

For a guidance counselor, he wasn’t that great at giving himself guidance. Or counseling.

“Stevie?”

“Hm?”

Hey! Progress! He made a noise!

“Got your sandwich,” Eddie held up the plate and smiled at Steve, who had opened his eyes, but hadn’t bothered to lift his head from where it rested against the back of the tub. He was too comfy. “You wanna dry your hands so you can eat?”

He wanted to eat, but he certainly didn’t want to move. His hands were so warm in the water. If he took them out of the bath they’d be cold and probably pruned, which was not attractive.

Not that it mattered if he was attractive, but he didn’t want Eddie to have anything else to add to the list he’d titled ‘Why Steve Harrington Is Not A Catch.’

“Sunshine, you have to eat something.”

Steve sighed. He blinked at Eddie in hopes that he would understand what he was trying to say.

Eddie sat down on the floor next to the tub and lifted the sandwich up to Steve’s mouth.

That wasn’t what Steve was trying to say, but he couldn’t really argue since he was still apparently nonverbal.

Eddie had briefly explained that that happened a lot during subspace, and sometimes it happened during a drop.

Steve took a bite of the sandwich and groaned.

It was good.

Or maybe he was just really hungry.

Either way, he leaned in to take another bite before he’d even finished chewing the first. He didn’t even care if it was disgusting or rude, he just needed to eat.

“Good boy. But don’t eat too fast, sunshine. Don’t want you to feel sick.”

“Mhm.”

Steve relaxed again, letting Eddie hold the sandwich up to his mouth to take a bite every minute or so.

It was nice. Too nice.

Steve had never been taken care of like this. Even when he was with Nancy, she would usually leave him alone when he was sick or tired, not wanting to expend the energy it takes to get him through an illness or exhaustion.

He was a little needy sometimes. He covered it up well after Nancy, not wanting anyone, not even Robin, to know he sometimes needed someone to care for him.

He hadn’t even noticed he drifted off again until Eddie was running his fingers through his barely wet hair.

“C’mon sunshine. Water’s getting too cold. Gotta get you in bed.”

And then he was in what he assumed was Eddie’s bed in what he assumed were Eddie’s clothes in what he assumed was big trouble.

He let himself feel safe.

He hadn’t felt safe in a long time.

– – – – – – – – – –

When he woke up, he was alone.

He was used to being alone.

In fact, a part of his brain told himself he would have been more worried if he wasn’t alone.

But he wasn’t in his bed, which meant at some point very recently he wasn’t alone.

And then it all came rushing back to him.

This was Eddie’s bed. Eddie, the tattoo artist he barely knew, who helped him through whatever the fuck he went through yesterday.

He turned onto his side and nearly fell out of bed when he saw that he wasn’t alone. Eddie was asleep, body curled up facing Steve, but keeping some distance between them. His breathing was slow and quiet, and his body looked relaxed despite the uncomfortable looking position he was in.

Steve watched as Eddie slept, thinking through the events of the night before.

Eddie had known what to do, what he needed, and how to make sure he got it even when he couldn’t speak. He hadn’t taken advantage of him, even though it would have been easy to do with Steve so out of it.

Eddie let out a snore and Steve couldn’t help the endeared smile that crossed his face.

Nope, you stop that right the fuck now, Steven Harrington.

He was about to slap himself in the face to prevent himself from actually having feelings when Eddie’s eyes shot open.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Eddie smiled, and Steve was definitely in trouble.

“Hey, sunshine.”

“Um. Hi.”

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can get dressed.”

Steve started to sit up, but Eddie reached his hand out to stop him.

“No rush. Seriously, take your time. I don’t have to be at the shop until 12 today.”

Which reminded Steve that it was Sunday, he had nowhere to be, and he was currently very cozy. Maybe he could stay for a little while. Just until he was more awake.

“I don’t wanna take up more of your time. You’ve done enough I think.”

“It’s fine, Steve.” Steve felt himself make a face at the name and Eddie’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“I dunno. Just used to you saying Stevie or Sunshine.”

Eddie smirked at him and Steve felt his stomach drop. Where it dropped to, he didn’t know, and he didn’t think he would ever find it again with the way he felt completely hollowed out.

“It’s just as much for me as it is for you, Stevie. That was pretty intense last night.”

His tone was serious, but he kept a soft smile on his face, probably to make sure Steve didn’t run away without talking about some of it.

“Yeah. I’m sorry about everything. I really wouldn’t have even gotten a tattoo if I thought that would happen.”

“Nothing to apologize for. You can’t control it. How would you have known it would happen?” Eddie raised one brow as if to dare Steve to argue. “Exactly. You didn’t know. I’m glad I was around to help. Hate to think what could’ve happened if it was someone else.”

And, yeah, Steve was worried about that now too. Eddie seemed to know a lot about this, so Steve took this opportunity to ask some questions. He certainly couldn’t ask Robin.

It was a long conversation, and Eddie never talked to him like he was stupid. He was patient and kind, and was honest if he didn’t know the answer to something. He occasionally reached out to brush some of Steve’s hair out of his face or squeeze his hand if he seemed like he couldn’t figure out how to phrase something, bringing him back to the present and keeping his thoughts in order.

They went over how he could prepare for it next time, but Steve said he probably wouldn’t be getting another tattoo anytime soon.

Eddie said he would prefer that he come to him if he did or at least have someone who could help him through it if he went somewhere else.

“So, before the drop…” Steve stopped. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. Well, he did, but he didn’t know if actually wanted to say it out loud.

Eddie looked at him expectantly, an encouraging smile pointed at Steve in a way he couldn’t resist.

“Before the drop. I really felt…good. Like I was untouchable and nothing bad could happen. Is that always like that? The subspace thing?”

“I’ve never experienced subspace. I mean, I’ve tried a couple times when I first started messing around with people, but it just didn’t happen for me. But I’ve been with plenty of subs when they’re floating and they describe it like that, yeah. Like you can feel everything and nothing at once, but everything is good. It’s a high you can’t even get from drugs. Which is why the crash from it can be so fucking awful.”

It still didn’t make sense how Steve got to this point, how he had ever reached that high from needles pressing into his skin and Eddie being nice to him, and how he’d fallen so far so fast.

But what Eddie said was exactly how he’d felt the night before. He wasn’t really able to put it into words like Eddie had.

“So will I always drop if I end up there again?”

“Not if you’re with the right person and you can figure out limits and what causes it for you. Everyone is different. For you, it seems like pain might do it, but you would have to be in the right mindset to get there no matter what.”

“I wasn’t really in any type of mindset last night.”

“Maybe it didn’t seem like it. But it’s hard to really know when you weren’t expecting it.”

Steve bit his lip. How could he have not known? How did he make it to 27 years old not having a clue?

“Hey.” Eddie’s thumb rubbed against his bottom lip, pulling it away from his teeth. “You didn’t know. It’s normal for a lot of people to never know. If you weren’t into the scene before, how would you know? But now you do. And now you just have to be careful in the future. I don’t want anyone to hurt you.”

Steve was gonna die right here in Eddie’s bed. Who the fuck just says shit like that? His heart skipped a beat like in those stupid romance books Nancy used to read.

How dumb.

“Is pouting your natural state?”

Steve pouted harder, bottom lip pushing out as far as he possibly could just to be ridiculous.

It was worth being and feeling ridiculous to hear Eddie’s laugh.

“Listen, I know I just threw a lot at you and you may have more questions. You’ve got my number on that tattoo care sheet, so make sure you call me or text me if you have any questions, okay? And if you want another tattoo and don’t feel comfortable going somewhere else, I’m happy to do it all over again, hopefully without the drop this time.”

“What if I wanted to float again? Without the tattoo.”

Steve should shut his mouth. He really should shut his fucking mouth.

Eddie searched his face, much like he did the night before. What the hell was he looking for?

He glanced behind Steve for a moment and then back at him.

“I’ve gotta get up and get ready. But we have to have a really big talk before I can agree to that.” Steve felt his own face fall, but Eddie quickly continued. “Not because I don’t want to, sunshine. I think you’re at the part of the post-high feeling where you wanna reach it again right away. That can be really bad for you and for me, okay? But I’m done at 7 tonight. You busy?”

Steve was never busy on the weekends unless Robin was dragging him to a club and he’d be damned if he tried to go to a club instead of being with Eddie.

Which is another thing he probably should start unpacking very soon.

“No. I have work at 7:30 in the morning though.”

“Ah, right. Guidance counselor.” Eddie smirked. “Nothing’s gonna happen tonight except talking. You could also…bring stuff to spend the night here if you want.”

Eddie seemed incredibly nervous to even suggest it, and maybe if it was anyone else, Steve would’ve laughed and ran out the door, never to look back at the batshit insane person trying to have him spend the night within 24 hours of knowing him.

But Steve thought about how well he slept in Eddie’s bed with Eddie last night, and he thought about how his bed was pretty lonely, and how maybe waking up here again would make him feel better about having to exist on Monday.

“Yeah. I could do that.”

Eddie’s answering smile was nothing short of blinding.

“Great! Okay. Let’s head on back to the shop so you can get your car. Is Robin home?”

“Probably. She’s probably waiting to see my name on the news with the headline “Dead Body of Idiot Man Trying To Get First Tattoo Found” and a picture of me from the yearbook.”

Eddie let out a loud laugh.

It was nice.

Usually, Steve got annoyed when people laughed so loudly, but Eddie’s was nice.

Eddie was nice.

“So. 7?”

“Yeah, sunshine.”

— — — — — — — — — —

Eddie didn’t let Steve stray far while they got ready to leave.

Steve would never admit how much he loved it.

During the drive back to the shop, Eddie played music Steve had never heard, and probably never would have if not for him. He didn’t exactly like it, but he didn’t mind it, especially when he watched Eddie sing along with a passion Steve hadn’t really ever felt.

They didn’t need to talk and Steve didn’t feel pressured to try.

He hadn’t felt so comfortable around someone since he first met Robin, and he was holding onto the panic he knew was coming when he was alone.

He was still feeling tired. His emotions had been on a hell of a journey over the last 18 hours, and Eddie had already warned him he probably would be feeling the effects of it all for another day or so.

But Eddie also explained that without the drop, it’s worth it.

He wanted to know what that felt like.

And he wanted to know what it felt like with Eddie.

So when they arrived at the shop and said goodbye, Eddie hugged him tightly, holding him against his chest. Steve wasn’t much shorter than him, but he managed to fold himself into him without being uncomfortable, resting his face against his collarbone and breathing in the scent he was already addicted to.

They separated, but neither seemed ready or willing to.

Did Eddie feel this pull the way Steve did? Was Steve just attaching himself to someone who helped him through his most vulnerable time?

As he walked away, he looked over his shoulder to find Eddie staring after him, keeping eyes on him as he walked to his car. He was frowning.

Maybe he did feel as much as Steve.

Chapter 4

TAG LIST: @invisibleflame812 @inmoonywetrust @captain-daryn @carlyv @lillemilly @spectrum-spectre @raisedbylibrarians @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @mightbeasleep @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @bornonthesavage @loguine-linguine

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #Part 3 #grumpy sunshine trope #tattoo artist eddie munson #dom eddie munson #sub steve harrington #top eddie munson #bottom steve harrington #accidental subspace Steve Harrington #ao3fic #myfic

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earthry · 9 months

Text

Papas and Readers Coexisting (Headcanons)

I love having the ability to just quietly exist in each other’s company, not necessarily talking and not feeling like you have to. Just being together is enough.

sfw, no warnings, fluff and comfort, coexisting quietly with each other

Primo

Quiet time in the garden; sometimes you help him with the weeding or pruning, other times you sit in the shade of a nearby tree with a sketchbook. Though you sketch a lot of the wildlife and plants around you, you always find at least one or two candid sketches of Primo tucked in the corner of every page.

Every so often you’ll feel light pressure and look up to see that Primo has balanced a wildflower of some sort on your knee. Sometimes you catch him before he fully withdraws his hand and he smiles sheepishly at you. Occasionally he’ll tuck the flower behind your ear and press a kiss to the back of your hand.

“It simply reminded me of your smile, my petal. You wear it so beautifully, si?”

Secondo

There’s a couch in his office with soft cushions and a plush throw blanket over the side. There wasn’t one before, but after a few weeks of you sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs he had one installed. You usually lounge on the couch with a book as Secondo silently works on paperwork or a personal project.

Occasionally you’ll fall asleep and Secondo will look up when there’s a lack of page turning and realize you’ve passed out. He’ll gently take the open book that’s about to fall out of your hand and set it on the side table before covering you with the throw blanket. Before he goes back to his work he always gives your forehead a gentle kiss.

“It’s been a long day, hasn’t it? Sleep well, tesoro. I’ll finish in a couple of hours and join you.”

Terzo

Whether it be breakfast, lunch, or dinner, Terzo prides himself on being an excellent chef. Since retirement he often home-makes all your meals you have together. Lazy mornings spent watching him putter around the kitchen with the radio on, sometimes humming along or doing a little shimmy to the music. You watch from your spot at the kitchen table with a smile, usually with your laptop out catching up on emails and other work.

In the evenings, you sometimes help Terzo with dinner preparations, glancing at the recipe book as you orbit around each other in perfect tandem. Other times you sit at the table not unlike the mornings, working on your laptop again or watching videos on your phone with the sound turned low. Terzo doesn’t mind the extra noise and every so often will waltz over with a spoon for you to taste test for him.

“Too sweet, dolcezza? Give me your thoughts. Oh! Not sweet enough? Mm, if you give me some of your sugar we can change th— ow! Don’t smack me I was complimenting you.”

Copia

You love nothing more than napping with your head in Copia’s lap while he plays his video games, making little noises as he succeeds or fails, the soft sounds of the game volume turned low lulling you to sleep. Sometimes you snuggle together and watch him, other times you’ll be scrolling on your phone quietly with your feet in his lap.

Copia will take his rats out to free roam his room sometimes while the two of you hang out quietly. Some days he works on his music, other days he just likes to play and watch his rats. You often bring your own things to work on but always find yourself looking up every once in a while to see Copia cooing softly to one of his babies.

“Aw look at you, you’re getting quite chubby aren’t you? My little chubby baby, you’re so cute— amore mio, come look! He’s cleaning his face what a polite little guy!”

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heich0e · 10 months

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yakuza!suna/escort!reader part 6 - takes place the night following part 5, tw the girlies are fighting (literally), tw mention of blood, happy belated birthday yakuza!shinsuke i want you to step on me series masterlist

The Inarizaki compound is an immaculately maintained estate.

The grounds are vast, tucked away in a quiet corner of Hyogo, just distant enough from the city to feel private. The buildings on the property are old, and traditional in style, but they were built to last and have been cared for to ensure it. The compound is as imposing today as the day it was first built, a truth diligently seen to over the years as its care has passed between hands from one head of the family to the next. It stands as a testament to the power and the influence of those who inherit and inhabit it; a reflection of them built in timber and stone.

Nothing on the property is out of place or unkempt. Every shrub, every blade of grass, every flower in the garden is carefully reared and pruned. Every floor diligently swept. Every surface cleared of any trace of dust. Every window polished to a spotless shine that reflects the sun that looks brightly down upon the sprawling plot of land.

And underneath the Inarizaki compound—in the labyrinthine system of corridors and dim, damp rooms where the sun doesn’t reach—the same diligence, the same control, exists too.

“Well, well, well—would ya look who it is.”

On a ratty leather sofa in one such room, deep below the well-tended grounds, Atsumu lays sprawled with his head tipped back lazily over the arm rest. On the other side of the wide room, a figure stands before him after just stepping through the door—though, given the blonde’s current orientation, he’s upside-down in his line of sight.

Suna’s expression is notably flat—his mouth drawn into a tight, thin line—regardless of whether or not it’s viewed from the right way up.

“How nice of ya to finally join us,” Atsumu continues, picking himself up off the sofa so he’s sitting upright. He turns in his seat to glance over at his brother who's slumped down into a chair not far from him, fiddling with one of his favourite knives. Atsumu snort a little to himself. “‘Specially after ya kicked us outta yer place this mornin’.”

Suna says nothing in response.

The blonde twin smirks, peeking over at him again.

“So, how’s our little Yua-chan?”

If looks could kill, Osamu’s long-held dream of being an only child would have come true a hundred times over in an instant.

“Enough, Tsumu,” his twin grunts, flicking the butterfly knife in his hands closed. “Yer bein’ a slimy little fuck, ’n I’m not patchin’ ya up if he kicks yer ass.”

Atsumu huffs, a look of mild betrayal twisting at his features.

“My own brother,” he laments, a hand melodramatically clasped to his chest. Osamu flips him off with a roll of his eyes, scarcely paying him any attention at all.

With a laugh, Atsumu pitches himself back onto the sofa, snuggling down into the worn old leather to make himself comfortable. His head lolls to the side and his gaze travels once more to the man on the other side of the room who still has yet to venture much further beyond the doorway.

Osamu tucks his knife into the breast-pocket of his button-down shirt before reaching down beside his seat to grab one of the cans of beer he has resting at his feet in a plastic convenience store bag.

“Too bad ya didn’t bring her along, Sunarin. We could really use somethin’ nice to look at around here.” The blonde sighs almost wistfully, but the subtle curl at the corner of his mouth is unmistakably nefarious. “Pretty thing like her could be a huge boost fer morale. ‘Specially with those tits.”

Suna’s hauling Atsumu off the sofa before Osamu even has time to crack the tab on his drink.

“Get off’a me, ya psycho!” the blonde yelps as he hits the cold cement floor, but his cry falls only on deaf (or otherwise completely uncaring) ears.

In an attempt at defence, Atsumu throws a wide, flailing punch, but it doesn’t land. Suna’s got his shirt-collar tightly wrapped around his fist, and with one strong tug he drags his unsuspecting opponent forward, flipping Atsumu onto his chest on the ground. The blonde lets out a pitiful, wheezing grunt as Suna drops a knee to his spine, keeping him pinned, and takes a fistful of his peroxide locks in his hand to roughly draw his head back.

“Just wait," Atsumu grunts, as he tries to free himself from Suna's hold. "I’m gonna fuckin’ kil—“

Osamu opens his beer. The hiss of carbonation only vaguely mutes the sound of fist meeting flesh.

After all these years, the younger of the two Miya twins has learned that when his sibling picks a fight, it’s usually better just to let nature run its course. Sure, he intervenes sometimes if it’s really needed. After all, it’s still his brother—and Osamu’s not one to shy away from a good fight either, though he prefers that they be justified. But if Atsumu gets himself into a scrap, particularly when it comes to infighting like this, Osamu’s generally pretty happy to let him get knocked around a bit.

Not that he’ll ever learn a lesson from it.

Plus, Suna rarely ever gets this fired up. There’s a bit of fun to seeing Atsumu get his ass handed to him by the characteristically apathetic brunette. Osamu’s seen what Suna’s capable of plenty of times, and knows his particular handiwork well, but in the thick of a fight he doesn’t ever really have time to appreciate the distinctly feral way that Rintarou fights—the placid-faced brutality of it—so for once he just sits back and settles in to enjoy the show.

He’s not even halfway through his beer when he hears the sound of footsteps approaching on the concrete floor of the corridor outside, leading towards them. He pauses with the can held to his lips as two figures step into the room, silhouetted in the doorway by the harsh fluorescent light flooding in from the hallway behind them.

The skirmish in the centre of the room stalls upon the newcomers' unexpected arrival—both parties panting raggedly as they shove the other away, separating from the lock of their brawl.

“Get up.”

Neither of the men fighting dare to question the order, nor the man that it comes from.

Suna and Atsumu both stand from the floor, quietly adjusting their rumpled clothes. They keep their eyes averted under the heavy, disappointed gaze of the man who approaches them in unhurried, measured steps. With their gazes downturned, a pair of neatly polished shoes is all they can see when he comes to a stop in front of them.

“What’s all this about?”

When neither of the guilty parties opt to speak up in the wake of the question that was posed, the silence in the room sours.

The man sighs.

He turns on his heel towards Osamu, and the dark-haired Miya struggles to meet his gaze.

“Atsumu started it,” the younger man finally mutters, taking another long, much-needed swig from his beer.

“Rat,” his twin hisses under his breath from across the room.

“Quiet.”

Kita doesn’t yell.

He doesn’t even lift a hand.

Atsumu flinches all the same at the command.

The slighter man, dressed in a nice, neatly-pressed suit, looks between the two battered men in front of him.

“Someone gonna tell the boss what happened here, or what?” Aran remarks from the other side of the room, his tone dry and unenthusiastic—it’s far from the first time he’s broken up one of Atsumu’s squabbles, after all. He's leaning leisurely now against the metal frame of the heavy, industrial door as he watches everything unfold—having not even bothered crossing the threshold into the dingy little space that serves as a makeshift lounge of sorts. He knew his involvement was unlikely to be needed.

He's outranked by his company, after all.

“Suna went nuclear ‘cuz I made a little joke about some girl,” Atsumu complains, ready to talk now it would seem, as blood drips down his philtrum from his nose.

Kita’s eyes flicker to Suna, still slouching indolently at Atsumu’s side with his eyes directed away.

“A girl?” Shinsuke remarks thoughtfully. “What girl?”

“Just some girl Suna’s fuck—seein’,” Atsumu quickly alters his word choice in favour of something less profane when Kita’s eyes meet his. “Samu and I ran into her at his place this mornin’, naked as the day she was born.” As though he simply can’t help himself, like one final swing in the fight, the blonde tacks on one last pointed: “Interestin’ sight to say the least.”

Suna’s face is as expressionless as ever when he finally looks up to meet Kita’s stare, having avoided it for as long as he possibly could. The highest ranking member of the Inarizaki syndicate meets his eyes, his own expression pensive.

“Not the same one ya came to speak with me about this morning, surely?”

Suna’s nose twitches slightly.

Osamu stills, half-way through the motion of lifting his drink to his lips again, his thirst forgotten in the wake of the remark.

Atsumu seems surprised too, somewhere under all the reddish-swelling on his face.

Even Aran's curiosity seems to be piqued.

“This girl’s makin’ ya behave rashly,” Kita comments. The judgement is conversational in tone but still biting—even-tempered and just but somehow all the more damning.

Red flushes into the tips of Suna’s ears.

“I’ll make myself clear, ‘cause it seems like I didn’t in our earlier conversation. It’s neither my place nor my desire to get my hands dirty in the personal matters of yer life. Those affairs are no concern of mine,” Kita says calmly, his eyes fixed so raptly to Rintarou’s face that anyone would be unnerved, much less a subordinate. The older man pauses then, as though thinking quite seriously about what to say next.

Kita does this often: prolonged silences not unusual in the middle of his conversations, as he considers the information available him and his path forward. It’s reminiscent of a man playing go, taking time to carefully choose his next move.

“However,” Kita finally adds, the lines of his face hardening as he comes to his decision, “what is my concern is this family, and it’s my responsibility to intervene when somethin’, or someone, jeopardizes it.”

Suna’s eyes drop to his feet as he nods stiffly, his gaze lowered in shame.

“Suna,” the Oyabun’s voice is low and gentle, which in many ways makes it worse. “You owe yer heart a debt for the way it’s served you ’til now, for the things that it’s helped bear, and I don’t claim to deny that. But don’t forget what debt you owe to this family. What obligation ya have to yer brothers. You can’t allow a temporary novelty to confuse where yer priorities lie.”

The dingy, dank room is quiet for a moment, and then Kita sighs, turning on his heel towards the door. Before he steps away, he glances towards Suna again.

“Go home, Rintarou.”

Everyone in the room freezes.

Suna’s eyes snap up in confusion, a complaint on the tip of his tongue as his lips part to free it. One look at Kita’s face silences him, and any protest he may have wanted to voice dies out before it’s given breath. The elder turns away once more.

He crosses the room towards Aran, and his Wakagashira pushes himself up off the doorframe as he approaches, pulling himself upright as the two prepare to take their leave. Meanwhile, Atsumu and Osamu share a look across the room, communicating their shock—and relative confusion—wordlessly between themselves.

Just before he steps across the threshold to exit, Kita pauses once more. He doesn’t turn around, but there’s no question in anyone’s mind who he’s speaking to when he says:

“Not to that club. Not to that girl. Home.”

#suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #yakuza!suna #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

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wren-dy-flowergarden · 9 months

Text

𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴For a whole world defined by the idea of fairytales, you did not feel as if you were living one. But Cinderella got her Prince Charming eventually! Maybe you end up with your own fairytale ending once you finish your hellish shift.

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ A/N: Sorry! A repost that only 12 people have saw before (the special ones) and I thought more ppl need to see my boi Floyd. Thank you for filling my insecurity (ノ*°▽°*).✧.*✦ *.✧

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ Word Count: 4.3k Floyd x gn!reader

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ Tags: friends who want more, long shifts = loss of logic, fluff and deals, a little spicy at the end? hands, Hands, HANDS!

For a whole world defined by the ideas of fairytales, you did not feel as if you were living in one.

Life has been "hectic" to put it mildly. From being pushed into a carriage (which should be considered kidnapping logic blasted away between gaps in worlds), dealing with egotistical boys that turn into a monster of repressed issues, and on top of all that studying 24/7 to even catch up with the grade level is too much to handle.

Oh, and to keep up with Grim's insatiable appetite, meaning he ordered twenty plates of tuna behind her back at Lounge Monstro leading to said terror to complain that his "poor paws" can't soak or they become little wet stubs. Not only that the animal language test was coming up and you really needed all the help you could get. Therefore, you took up some extra shifts that were available at the Lounge.

The only shift being dishwater duty.

Plummeting her hands with washed-up food and soapy water felt disgusting.

It felt like a pre-prince charming Cinderella fairytale.

Scratch that, you felt like a poorer pre-prince charming Cinderella. At least Cinderella got a fire to sleep next to (though Grim acted as a nice heater if he didn't twist and turn so much at night.)

Dousing wrinkled fingers, with clean water from the spout you gave an audible groan as the busser just pushed at least twenty more dirty dishes to her. He gave a small sorry before dashing off again.

You eyed the mess of gravy, picked clean bones, and a mountain of stacked soda glasses about to tip over. A job is a job but this is ridiculous.

Starting with the plates first you grumbled, "Stupid Azul being cheap-" scrubbing harder against a stain, "scheduling only one dishwasher today." All of a sudden, oxygen left your lungs as something heavy collided into you.

"Koebi-chan! You're here today~" Floyd grinned as he put most of his weight onto your body.

Being "hugged" by Floyd felt more like being "mauled" by a bear. A strange, friendly, sharp tooth instead of nails type of bear but mauled either way.

"You're heavy", you grumble hunching over, chest almost touching the tip of the basin, "get off me!"

You are not supposed to poke the bear but in this case Floyd really didn't mind, "Hehe~. Koebi-chan is super fun when they’re red!"

Like his twin would say, 'There is no stopping Floyd from getting what he wants without measurable danger.'. The danger might be your neck being squeezed or maybe losing a finger to pointy teeth but really what could be worse than your kidnapping from another world situation? Not much.

Yuu steadies her hands against the sink as eyes glaring at yellow, “At least help me with dishes. With you, on cooking duty instead of Jade there are at least triple the number of pans."

He leans back relieving some of the weight as he explains with clear disinterest, "Ehhhh, but I just got off!"

He snakes one arm around your waist pulling tight as you let out a squeak, his lips getting closer before he breathes out.

"Let's just stay here~" You feel his lips close to your ear, “Forever~”

You flayed, pruned hands covering your ears as a crimson red ran up your cheeks as you broke out of Floyd's grip gaping at him.

"You- You!"

Floyd breaks out into his signature grin, mirth dancing in his eyes, "Hehe. Koebi-chan gives the best reactions ever!

You glared back before turning to at least an hour’s worth of dishes that need to be done before Azul sent you home tonight. Then it was the homework and also finding the time to make a quick dinner, and ugh- "Just help me out would you? My feet are already hurting from tonight's dinner rush."

"Nahhh." Floyd says stretching his arms above his head a few pops and a shrug later he crosses his arms with the smirk of someone who would get at least 8 hours of sleep tonight, "Azul said I'm done tonight."

Well duh, you heard all the wrong orders going out. Azul probably wanted to preserve if/any profits were made tonight.

"Besides! Washing dishes are supeeeer boring." he tilts his head to the side frowning, "Not really into that."

You sighs and tries to outweigh the odds in her head:

Option one: Floyd will go bother some other poor soul after a few moments of silence.

Option two: If he did try to clean the dishes Yuu is almost 99.9999% sure that the show-off would try to recreate his basketball moves using plates as the ball which would eventually break and YOU would have to clean up.

Or get your pay docked . . .

Option one it is.

"Fine Floyd. I'll see you tomorrow then."

A slow blink before the six-foot man unrolled his arms, confusion in his voice, "Huh?"

You focused on scrubbing at a black stain on one of the pots, it's a 50/50 if it looks clean or not, "I said 'fine'. I will see you tomorrow." You would not turn back around. You are focused. Focused on these hellish stains.

So focused, you did not even notice Floyd stomp off.

An hour and a half later, wrinkled chicken skin and tender feet that hurt to walk on you were finally given the ok to head home.

It was worth it though, you gasped when Azul gave a copy of his notes. Diagrams, arrows, and color-coded entries determine which grammar was being used. If Azul wasn't such a devil when it came to business he might have been an angel.

Stuffing the notes into her book bag, she winced glancing at her feet and feeling her skin rubbed raw.

Note to self: wear better socks.

Shuffling slowly to the entrance two figures shadowed the bar, Jade polishing a glass and Floyd's with his head down on the counter.

Jade gave a perfected smile, "Ah Prefect, thank you for working so hard today," his eyes glanced down to his brother sulking on the counter, "Floyd told me you were very focused today."

A whine came from Floyd, like his puppy (do merpeople have puppies?) just got kicked. Yuu shuffled around to a bar stool leaning against it, "Well I was trying to get home before ten, but it seems like that wasn't the case tonight."

Floyd kicked his feet against the bar counter another whine leaving him.

Jade blinked, expression turning inquisitive to a not-very well-hidden smirk, "Pardon my manners, but Prefect you seem rather stressed. Isn't that right Floyd?"

Floyd let out a sound that Yuu could not tell if it was an agreement or not, but Jade knew as he placed a perfectly polished flute on the counter.

He smiles, and it sends a small shiver down your spine, "It seems you're unsteady on your feet Prefect, your shoes giving you difficulty?"

He tilts his head to his twin, grin not leaving his face, "It may come as a surprise, but Floyd may be able to help your situation."

Floyd stops kicking the bar and you are trying to make heads or tails of Jade's words. It was late. You were tired. You wanted to go home to whatever rickshaw/graveyard dorm you called a home when other dorms had where place in literally different geo spheres.

You shake your head, "No thanks, I rather deal with my bloody toes another day."

It was as if Jade expected that answer because he just nods, in full understanding, and Jade never fully understood unless it was for his gain you've learned, "It's unfortunate, but I believe this be for better than for not. Remember our favor?"

And no, you don't remember, because there could be a billion favors you owe Jade- from him giving tips to you to keep up with rush hour or simply holding the door open for you- because every act of kindness from him is a disguise for his amusement.

You stare at Floyd, who was oddly quiet at this moment, and you want to collapse but it was better not to ask about favors in front of them both.

They tend to get a little jealous and the rest of your day is gone trying to make one of the two contents until they forget. That person usually being Floyd, because Jade rarely forgets.

You groan, placing a hand on your head to stop your incoming headache.

Fine. What's the worst that can happen?

You probably couldn't imagine what the "worst" was through the pounding in your head as Floyd jumps up, joy evident on his face as he pulls you with him with Jade waving goodbye.

The "worst" was actually being carried chest to chest spinning around in circles through Octavinelle's public lounge which thank god there were nobody in sight, or should you say blurred with the way Floyd keeps twisting you around and around like a whirlpool.

You complain once about Floyd's freakishly long legs walking too fast and this is what you get.

The only way to balance yourself was ducking into his neck shutting your eyes waiting for the experience to be better. You dig in close and Floyd in response is to squeezes you closer.

…It’s not that uncomfortable.

"We're here!" Floyd shouts and you immediately put a hand over his mouth, you don't want to wake anyone else up to this embarrassing scene, for your own sake.

Floyd lowers you to the floor where you gently let go of his neck, your distress evident enough on your face because Floyd is grinning like a kid who just made bank at the candy store.

The door opens one side to messy clothes littered over every droppable surface there is sheets twisted to one corner of the bed, and papers scattered across his desk. In all honesty, it would not be that bad if not for the fact the other side looked like those real state showrooms. Nothing was out of place, no crease on the bedding, and everything was ironed and hanging on a clothing rack not very far from an organized desk. Must be Jade’s side.

Floyd pushes you a bit and you stumble toward his side of the room.

"Hey! I can still walk you know." Dodging some thrown clothes was more difficult as Floyd closes the door.

"Ehhh, but you were just staring Koebi-chan." He gets closer knocking you onto the edge of his bed. Huh. Your heart feels like it's running at a thousand miles per hour as Floyd puts two hands on your shoulders pressing you into the bed so that your sitting, "Relax, relax~ we're just getting started!"

Wha- What does he mean by that!?

His fingers glide gently down your arms, and it feels like fire touching ice for the first time. A strong goosebump sensation travels down leaving just a strange warm feeling filling up your body. It's weird and you don't know how to handle this as he keeps trails down to your hands before gripping them.

You never noticed how much he engulfed you as he gave you a tight squeeze, before lowering onto his knees. He would be between your legs if you weren't squeezing your thighs as hard as possible together. Knocking on your kneecap like a door he gives childish smile, "Move your legs Koebi-chan~" It was to- to much for your poor little heart.

You call out, well it comes out more as a half shriek half whimper as you push at Floyd who was slowly pushing one of your legs aside, "Hey- that! That's too much!"

Floyd blinks, "Too much?" He leans downward, chin onto the edge of your thigh and frowns similar to how you imagine a dog being yelled at. You do everything in your power to stop your voice from shaking, but this was the furthest you have ever gone in your life, and you haven't even kissed!

You mind was quickly turning into a vortex sucking in every single scenario locked in the back of your head and just when you feel the tip of your ears about to burn off a whine interrupts you.

"But Koebi-chan, I just need my tools."

Forget the ears, your whole head was exploding off your shoulders, "T-to-tools!?"

Another nod, "Yup," a pop of the 'p', "ya know to fix your shoes." And your face must be ridiculous because Floyd gives such an uncontrollable laugh his head tilting back before wiping a stray tear from his eye. He grips your ankle loosening the collar between shoe and skin. You let out a small wince as the shoe peels apart from bloody skin, him delicately wriggling out the rest of the shoe off.

He flips the crew shoe upside down, "You see. Koebi-chan’s foot is getting all mashed up like shark food. See, see?" You kind of notice, only the tip of the show is scrubbed off along with a large part of the heel.

Floyd flips the shoe again as he shows you the inside, the heel is worn down to the sole and there is wet blood on the side as he clicks his tounge, "Koebi-chan~ You should've given Azul the right size, now you're payin' for it!" And you would if you could, but only men's sizes are available and that kind of screwed you over a bit for your small feet.

"So- so the tools you were talking about..."

He slides his arms underneath the bed pulling out a worn wooden box. A grin blossoms to life as he unclasps the top of the box revealing what you could only assume to be a cobbler set. Unlike everything else in his room, the tools are polished to a worn type of satisfaction- like an artisan who created each imperfection to conceive perfection.

It wasn't what you were thinking of at all.

It. Wasn't. That. At. All.

Floyd’s smile widens as he sees your puffed-up cheeks, meanwhile scrunching into yourself to hopefully create a black hole to swallow yourself in rather than face embarrassment of misreading the conversation.

"Woah- this is a new phase for Koebi-chan!"

"Just! Just fix my shoes Floyd!"

You look at the clock located on Jade's side of perfection. It read 11:43, and you were surprised that Jade hasn't come back yet, well scratch that, he is dedicated to his craft. You flip over on the bed as Floyd is still extending the collar of your crew shoes. It's a different look you don't see often. Mostly Floyd will be hopping around from area to area with either a smile or frown on his face, but now he just stared in concentration using his tools to create.

You never have seen him like this, and that bothered you- just a bit. You were so used to his voice filling every space of the conversation that all you needed to worry about were your next words. Now all you had were you, him, and your thoughts.

You hate to say this, but maybe it was because you were bored?

A small cough leaks through your mouth, just enough to garner attention and it doesn't even distract him. You frown and just when you are about to turn around to stare at the clock Floyd giggles, "Koebi-chan looks like they're drying up on hot sand."

Rolling your eyes you respond, "Well I am just laying here." Floyd must be amused because you can hear him hum a little tune under his breath as he grabs a canister from the box and a small brush.

"Hey, Floyd."

"Hmmmm~ Whatcha want?"

You think of the best way to ask these questions, but you assume the simpler the better.

"Why do you know how to fix shoes?"

"Hmmmmmm dunno."

"You don't know?" You take another glance at how meticulously he handles every instrument like he carved each one from hand for its own individual purpose. You decide to rephrase, "Is it another hobby?"

Brushing another coat of the mixture onto the tip he cracks his neck turning his lamp to the side, "When I was little, Jade and I sometimes see land-dwellers on land twirling and dancing around.” He tips his brush back into the mixture, “We don’t need feet because it’s not needed ya know. Yet you guys decorate your feet in so many styles its super interesting you know. Just cause we have fins doesn’t mean we paint them weird colors. Suuuper funny you know.”

He clicked his feet together and it was just then you noticed the difference of the style of Floyd's shoes compared to your own brown ones. They were in pristine condition, as the white cut the heel and toe into two parts separating them from matte to a glossier finish with no marks on them. It was much different than the beaten-up ones he currently had between his fingertips.

You never really looked down when talking to Floyd because he was so much taller. You guess you never did notice how pristine his shoes were compared to how frumpy he wore his uniform.

"Heh, seeing how land-dwellers had so many styles for their feet is so funny." He looks at your feet, already bandaged up with some disinfectant, "It's like you have to wear 'em. You landies are so delicate that you need shoes to protect your feet! That's sooooo different~"

You're starting to understand, "And that just makes us all the more interesting huh?"

He grins in a way you can see a sharp tooth poking out on top, "But your wayyyy more interesting than the others Koebi-chan~ .”

Your cheeks start to warm up, but you don’t fall for the bait, “Oh really?”

"M'mhm almost done~"

You roll to a cooler side of the bed, "And I was just getting comfy here." It really was miles above your own cardboard spring bed, you were sinking into this bed than just laying on a rock with some sheets thrown ontop.

Floyd swivels around on his chair and just wheezes as he looks at your form, "HA- Koebi-chan looks like a starfish now!" And you can’t disagree this is one of the comfiest beds you have been on yet it was all disturbed with Floyd gripping your ankles pulling you slowly to the edge of the bed.

“Wake uppp, you have to try em on now.” He whines as you groggle. Sitting on the edge of the bed again, you have purer thoughts this time as Floyd gets down own knee. He folds up your pant leg a couple rolls to expose your ankles better.

Satisfied, he cautiously takes one of the shoes and opens the collar gently guiding your toes in making sure not to catch any of the band aids on the side. You look down at him and again he is so focused, it’s so unlike him yet it doesn’t look that unfamiliar.

Catching the heel in place you are in awe. Instead of the front frow of your toes being squished there was now enough room to wiggle, and your heel wasn’t digging into the back of the shoe anymore. Not only that a new coat of paint was layered of scratches and on the rim of the sole you could see accents of white and grey cutting the style of the shoe leaving it with a trendy type of look.

You twist your foot back and forward looking at his craftsmanship. It’s amazing its spare detail that makes you feel like it’s yours. Something made for you. You and nobody else.

It almost felt like you were Cinderella fitting on the glass shoe.

“Soooo?” He whispers breaking you out of your thoughts, “Perfect fit?” He knows it because he is wearing a grin that reads as ‘say it! say how much you like it!’.

You roll your eyes, “Perfect fit Floyd.” He’s still looking at you with those puppy dog eyes. It’s a little outside your comfort zone but you raise a hand to his scalp and rub in circles, “I really like them.”

They really were perfect. So perfect a concern crosses your mind, “How much does it cost?”

Lazy eyes blink as you stop massaging his head, “Hmmmm?” He thinks for a moment, “Well I’m feelin’ pretty nice today Koebi-chan~” And automatically your brain thinks ‘free?’ but of course this is the dorm of deals akin to mercy so Floyd continues, “How about a kiss?”

…

A kiss…?

Your thought you were in the safe but your brain short circuits all the way to outer space and back, “A- A kiss!? What are you talking about Floyd. That’s- What!”

He pouts, “Well cause after you land-dwellers finish the last song usually you guys kiss right?” He sighs sitting on the floor crossing his legs, “Ya know I dance all the time, but I’ve never kissed anyone after.”

There are so many things wrong with that logic, but your short, circuited mind isn’t making sense, so you say something just as dumb back.

“We aren’t dancing Floyd.”

He looks at you in a way that makes you look like the dense one, “Duh Koebi-chan, that’s why this is the price!” He points to his cheek, “Right here! That’s where I want the kiss!”

Being flabbergasted is an understatement to how you feel right now, Floyd just keeps looking at you expectantly from the floor as he keeps tapping his cheek. It’s just a kiss on the cheek you say to yourself, what’s the worse that can happen? You’ve kissed your mom on the cheek this is fine!

“…fine.” Floyd lights up like its Christmas and you must wonder in the back of your mind if this is really just some elaborate scheme you are playing into. He is not getting up and you are embarrassed beyond the universe as you slide off the bed onto the floor, “Tilt- tilt your cheek to the side.”

He does so without hesitation, you can still see half the smile he is wearing on his face as you put an arm out to steady you as you lean closer and closer- oh please god don’t let my heart kill me- and right when your close enough to close your eyes and quickly press your lips against cool skin you hear a chuckle.

“Eh Koebi-chan face is really cute right now.” And suddenly you feel your chin being jerked as your lips contact something so much softer than what you remember as a child. It’s a little cool and somewhat chapped as you press into him and then he moves! You won’t open your eyes because if you do it feels like the butterflies beating in your chest will explode out of you. Floyd moves his hand to stable you as he rubs the other hand behind the back of your neck relaxing you into him as he moves against you in a way that it takes all your concentration to move with him.

A breath and you are gasping for air like a person held underneath water for far too long. Red face forehead to forehead to cool eyes and Floyd slowly licks his lips and looks at you in a way a hunter has just captured its prey. Devious eyes you think before he leans in again and you follow suit because there was something so addicting with the way Floyd pulls your lower lips with his fang and the way he rubs your arm back and forward as if wanting more of you and the only way you can answer is by gripping him tighter between your fingers.

You break apart and you lean against his chest this time catching your breath as he holds you, if you listened to his heart beat it was almost as fast as yours. You gulp air still passing through your lungs, “Was- Was that enough?” It was hard to hear his response through the blood passing through your ears, but Floyd just laughs as you feel his chest move with every breath, he hold your cheek as he tilts your head up craning it towards his dual-colored eyes.

He has a pretty, pink blush on him as well covering his nose all the way to his cheek bones, you can see the fang that tugs your lips barely peeking out of his smile.

“Hmmmm~ Maybe just one more.” And you close your eyes just one more time.

───────────✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ ───────────────

(Around 11:25pm at Lounge Monstro)

Azul is not having a good day. Not at all. Wasted food and damages, he needed to pay for restoring table 28, 32 and 18 after Floyd for some reason stormed out the kitchen and creating destruction everywhere he went. Azul groans as he flips through number filled papers with red lines and circles.

He thought that he had properly prepared to mitigate these damages when he gave Floyd an early night off but seeing his previous number quadrupled put him into a sour mood.

Reading the clock 11:28, he locks his office ready to get at least four hours of sleep because he still needed to write that business proposal for the headmaster-

“…Jade you’re still here?” He asks taking a step over what seems to be a sleeping bag and a couple books hovering near a campsite lamp, “We talked about this. No “practice” camping in the lounge” Azul warns as he finds Jade near a booth flipping through a book all about mushroom delights.

Jade just looks, with polite smile all he says is, “You can settle all qualms with Ramshackle’s prefect.” As he flips the next page.

Azul groans, Ramshackle’s prefect, another word for headache. Always putting their nose where it’s not supposed to be, but how would that be affecting Jade? Jade being a consistent vice warden understood Azul’s clear confusion and clarifies, “Floyd is with them in the dorm.”

oh….OH

Azul waved his thoughts away, there was no need to deal with this at this very moment instead he hands over the papers in his hand, “Help me with these accounts and you can stay in my room tonight.”

“Oh, how gracious of you.”

“Be quiet. Floyd is working double after tonight.”

#twst x reader #twst floyd #twst fluff #floyd x reader #floyd x you #fluff #twisted wonderland #reader insert #.wwrenwrites

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shmolish · 1 month

Text

Pure Vanilla x GN! Reader.

ONESHOT

Warnings: Very very small angst? I don't think it even counts as angst, tbh. And it's not proof read

-Dance-

"Greetings, old friend! It's been a while since we have last talked, and I do miss the ways we would chat the days away. Are you busy? I would hope not. That would be most unfortunate, since I'm hosting a grand party at my kingdom! You are one of few friends that I've invited with a handwritten letter. I do hope you enjoy it! The party and the letter, I mean. I hope to see you there. Maybe we can catch up? Oh and, I do hope we can continue being friends for a very long time.

-Sincerely, Pure Vanilla Cookie."

Your old friend Pure Vanilla was hosting a grand celebration, and everyone was invited. He even gave you a handwritten letter and eveything. It was going to be a large ball, where there would be music, food, and laughter. You couldn't wait for it to begin, though, you couldn't help but feel your heart sink at the words 'friend.' He thought of you as just that, a friend.

You thought of him as so much more, though.

Holyberry Cookie went shopping with you beforehand for some new outfits. You settled on a very fancy outfit that Hollyberry said looked nice on you.

There was also a small bracelet that Pure Vanilla gave you a while back. You decided to wear it, thinking it completed the outfit.

Before you knew it, it was already 8:00 P.M., the appointed time of the party.

How has time passed so quickly? You would ask yourself as you stood before the large gates.

Everything was so prestine and perfect, as expected of Pure Vanilla. He himself was rather perfect, wasn't he? All beautiful and kind. How did he even become friends with someone like you? Oh well, it doesn't realy matter.

When you entered the gates of the kingdom, you could already see floods of couples and people.

That's right, people don't usually come to parties alone. They usually come with someone they love.

Someone you love.

I have someone I love.

But do they love me back?

It's been a while since I last saw him..

You'd be thinking these thoughts to yourself as you walked into the main ballroom.

It was perfect in here as well.

The light bounced off of every wall in a way that made the whole room glow. The stained glass windows were all polished, and the floor was spotless.

He's way out of my league.

The chandelier hung enchantingly from the roof, and the tables were full of only the most exquisite foods.

And then of course, there was him. The center of attention, the heart of the party, the beloved ruler, Prune Vannila.

He was just talking to some guests, wearing that soft and inviting expression on his face while making small talk look so easy. He would smile, and laugh, and listen.

But most importantly, he looked so happy.

You'd look down at the invitation in your hand and sigh.

He would never love me.

You turned around and headed for a balcony. It was the same balcony that you and Pure Vanilla would always go to, and talk on. It was a nice place, and it was also a place where you could escape the party.

You'd rest your arms on the railing and look up at the sky. It was filled with stars, each spinning and sparkling in its own unique way. You wondered if Pure Vanilla would like them.

"Here you are. I saw you walking away from the party, and I had a feeling you'd be here," said a voice. You recognized it immediately.

"Pure Vanilla? I thought you were still talking to the guests.."

"I was, but when I saw you, I couldn't help myself! It's been much too long." He would say with a smile and he stood next to you.

"It has been a while... How have you been?"

"Ah, I don't mean to sound snobby or ungrateful, but everything was rather boring." He would pause for a moment. "I'm much happier now that you're here." He'd say.

You couldn't help but smile as well. "I'm much happier too."

There was a nice silence as the two of you looked up at the stary sky.

"Hey, I know this is a pretty random request, but.." he would hold out his hand.

He was wearing the bracelet as well. Just like he said he would.

"May I have this dance?" He asked, with a much more nervous smile this time.

You would put your hand in his. "Of course."

He would place his other hand on your waist, and you'd put your other hand on his shoulder. The music, though noticeably softer, could still be heard from the ballroom.

You two danced like this once before, but it was a long time ago. You wanted to learn how to dance, and he taught you.

At the time you weren't the best, but he didn't care. He just liked dancing with you.

"You've gotten better." He would say before twirling you around.

"I wanted to be good enough for the next time we met.." You'd say as you let Pure Vanilla guide your body through the dance.

"So you've been looking forward to this dance then?"

You nodded your head.

"I have as well..."

He would close his eyes as he recited the steps perfectly.

"You're wearing our bracelet." You'd say.

"Of course! I never lie." Pure Vanilla would pause for moment. "Except for one thing, actually."

You would tilt your head to the side curiously, awaiting an explanation.

"In the letter, I said I wanted us to stay friends for a long time. That was a lie though."

You felt your heart sink once again.

Was he trying end this friendship?

You weren't the best, but to just end it so suddenly?

"What do you mean-?" You would ask in a shaky voice. You didn't want to cry during this party, but if he continued on like this, you just might.

"Don't take it like that. That's not what I meant." He would say. "What I meant was... I want us to become more than friends." Pure Vanilla explained.

What did he just say? More than freinds?

"Don't make jokes like that." You'd say coldly.

"It's not a joke. I am being serious. I've always wanted to have you as my lover. Ever since our first dance together." He'd say.

"Then..." youd pause, and there was a suspenseful silence.

"Then I want to be more than friends as well.." you would finally spit out.

Pure Vanilla would let out a sigh of relief before smiling.

"Then please, my love, let us dance until the sun rises once again."

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla crk #pure vanilla x reader #pure vanilla oneshot #crk oneshot #cookie run kingdom oneshot #pure vanilla cookie x reader

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cuffmeinblack · 2 months

Text

Helping Hand

Garreth Weasley x Andrew Larson

Tags: explicit | blowjobs | handjobs

3.7k words

Summary: When Andrew finds Garreth sneaking ingredients from the potions stores, he lets him go instead of throwing the Gryffindor in detention. That second's hesitation will be his undoing, to his great delight.

A/n: The smut nobody asked for. These two are fighting for supremacy in my brain so naturally I just want them to fuck. Expect school slut Garreth and uptight virgin Andrew.

⤍ Garreth Weasley masterlist | Andrew Larson masterlist ⤎

Andrew had seen enough of his classmates’ intimate areas to last him a lifetime. Everett had congratulated him repeatedly on glimpsing Samantha Dale's breasts (of course he did, the pervert), though at the time they were being fondled by a pair of very large hands belonging to Leander Prewett. A strange pairing by any standards, which might have been why Samantha had trailed Andrew the following day, begging him not to tell a soul. Everett had overheard and managed to get some of the more gruesome details from Andrew before he'd managed to escape into the safety of the prefects’ bathroom. Whilst he floated in the perfumed waters, inhaling deeply the scent of lavender and geranium, he tried not to think too much about yesterday's revellation that even Zenobia-bloody-Noke had a little boyfriend, and had been caught by Andrew whilst they snogged behind the greenhouses close to curfew. It seemed as if the whole castle was awash with hormones, like Garreth Weasley had dosed each of its occupants with amortentia.

Truth be told, if he'd thought this head boy post involved mostly lecturing couples on discretion and telling them to put their clothes back on, he might have thought twice about the position. Some nights he felt like quite the voyeur, turning a corner and becoming flustered by the rhythmic grinding of bodies half hidden in shadow. He was ashamed to admit he'd watched these secret, steamy trysts in the castle corridors and empty classrooms for a few seconds before announcing his presence. It wasn't his fault he was so wound up these days, with no time to seek his own outlet for all this frustration. Exams were coming, tensions were high, and Andrew had only his hand for company on those nights where he'd collapse back on his bed and wish just once that he'd been the one to be caught in the dark with a handsome stranger. Or perhaps not a stranger at all.

His jealousy for his classmates might have been showing now, given the pouty mood he was in. He floated for a little while longer until his fingers resembled prunes before deciding to take matters into his own hands once again, quite literally. It would be a long night, and with any luck, it wouldn't involve any more sightings of nipples. Once dried and dressed, he made his way down to central hall, where those on patrol would be gathered before rounds began. They started half an hour before curfew and stayed well into the night, stumbling back to their dormitories for a less than satisfactory night’s sleep. The job could feel rather thankless, if it weren’t for the glowing recommendation he expected to receive from the Deputy Headmistress, a priceless addition to any student’s résumé.

A cluster of prefects soon came into view, all huddled near the fountain and chatting animatedly. Andrew’s footfalls announced his approach, and they turned and fell quiet.

“Alright, Andrew?” Eric asked, stifling a yawn.

“Fine, fine.” He was not fine, in fact he was so pent up he’d much rather be shut in his dormitory with the curtains around his bed drawn tight. Not even that bath had been enough to unwind the tension that seemed a constant companion these days. Andrew’s gaze drifted over the other faces as he tried not to linger too long on the shapely curve of Poppy Sweeting’s chest. “Eric, Cressida, you’ll be covering the bell tower wing tonight. There have been a few incidents recently along by the flying lawn—it seems some of the fifth year Herbology students enjoy smoking and flying, so see to it that you swing back around there a few times on patrol.”

Once all the assignments were given, the group parted and Poppy joined Andrew to patrol the library annex. It was one of the easier areas, unless Madam Scribner requested help to evacuate Peeves from the library, and Poppy was one of his favourite prefect partners. They chatted as they walked, mostly about schoolwork and beasts, but it was lighthearted and casual, never straying too far into personal territory. By the second turn about the annex, Andrew had loosened up slightly, though the same couldn’t be said for Poppy who was looking paler by the second.

“Are you okay, Poppy? You look a little peaky,” Andrew asked, reaching out a hand for her forehead but thinking better of it.

“Honestly? I feel quite sick. I think it might have been something I ate,” she said, clutching her stomach.

“Maybe you should get some rest, I can finish up here alone. Do you want me to take you to the hospital wing?”

“No, no, I don’t want to get stuck in there with Nurse Blainey all night. I think I should head back to my dormitory, though. Thank you, Andrew.”

“Of course. Take care, Poppy.”

Andrew watched her leave with a pang of regret, her brunette bob swinging lightly as she disappeared around a corner. Now he was alone, with nothing to distract him but the ghosts, most of whom preferred to keep their distance. With a sigh, he made his way along the corridor, occasionally stopping with his ear pricked for any sign of movement from the classrooms. All was quiet, suspiciously so. Only half an hour until the end of his patrol, he’d almost pegged it as his first uneventful night since becoming head boy, when he noticed the door to the potions classroom was slightly ajar. This wasn’t entirely unusual in itself, given Professor Sharp’s tendency to stay up late working, but instead of a warm glow of candlelight emanating from within, the room was almost pitch black.

Intrigued, Andrew pushed the door, wand raised just in case—he’d been on the receiving end of some nasty jinxes when catching students out of bed. A shuffle of footsteps halted him in his tracks, coming from the potions store room. This door was also open, though there was the distinctive hue of a Lumos charm spilling out of the crack.

“Professor Sharp?” he called.

“Shit!” The reply was quiet and muffled, preceding a smash of glass and the extinguishing of light.

“Who’s in here?” Andrew asked, casting his own charm to light the way and striding over to the storeroom. He shouldn’t have been surprised who greeted him when the door swung open, but the grin on his face was quite unexpected. “Garreth? What are you stealing this time?”

The redhead was standing in the middle of the room looking rather guilty, and Andrew couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his trousers. Not the kind he’d encountered on countless boys caught fraternising in the castle, but a suspiciously full pocket.

“I’m offended by the insinuation. I was just out for an evening stroll!”

Andrew cocked his head and gave him an exasperated look. “You can’t charm yourself out of this one.”

“Please, Andrew. I’ve already lost twenty house points this week and I’m not exactly in Sharp’s good books right now.”

“What else is new?”

Garreth gave him a look reminiscent of a wounded puffskein: head tilted down; green eyes wide and glittering; full lips turned into a pout… Andrew swallowed and dropped his wand to his side, hoping that Garreth wouldn’t catch the blush now crossing his cheeks. It really had been far too long since he’d had any action (never), but even Andrew had to admit that Garreth was devastatingly handsome, and had perhaps enjoyed the view of him bending over his cauldron once or twice (every single potions lesson).

“Fine, I won’t hand you in. You have to put back whatever you stole, though,” he said, pointedly looking at Garreth’s pocket, which was a mistake given his current condition. He almost groaned at the wand-lit curve of the boy's breeches.

“Really? I mean, I’m grateful…” Garreth pulled a handful of fwooper feathers out of his pocket and Andrew averted his gaze. “Got a soft spot for me?”

Garreth had clearly said it in jest, yet Andrew’s smile was somewhat awkward in return, his cheeks burning so hot he could have lit a candle on his skin. That damned freckled menace with his silky voice and bright smile might just be his downfall.

“Do you?” Garreth persisted, abandoning the feathers on the table and stepping closer to Andrew. His tone was teasing yet his smile was earnest, the kind of smile that made Andrew want to admit to every lewd thought he’d ever had of him.

“No, I’m just eager to finish my rounds and I don’t want to have to deal with the paperwork,” he muttered. He frowned and set his jaw, suddenly far too tense and far too aroused by the mere presence of Garreth.

“Merlin, you’re wound up. You work too hard, Andrew.”

“Yes, well, that does tend to happen when one is head boy,” he replied rather testily.

Garreth stepped forward again, his gaze unnerving in its intensity. He seemed to be studying every inch of Andrew’s face. His nervous fingers twitched around his wand and the light extinguished quite unintentionally.

“Garreth.”

Shit. It had meant to be a warning but had sounded like a…a whine. Andrew panicked, contemplated just running and leaving Garreth up to his mischief and hoped that Professor Sharp came back to a fully stocked storeroom come morning. He might have if his legs still worked.

When Garreth spoke, Andrew could hear the smile plastered on his face even if he could barely see it in the darkness. “I've always thought you were cute, you know.”

He felt Garreth's breath on his cheek and the warmth of his close proximity. Those calloused hands from hours of hard potion brewing were braced either side of Andrew, planted firmly on the rows of bottles and ingredients. He didn't dare think about what those dexterous fingers could achieve. Still, despite all the obvious signs, he wasn't prepared for the kiss. Garreth had aimed for his cheek but Andrew had turned at the last second and caught his lips, resulting in a sloppy sort of peck on his lower lip. Garreth chuckled and mortifyingly, pulled away.

“Thanks for not ratting me out. I owe you.”

“No problem,” Andrew mumbled, his brain apparently reduced to mush. If he'd been able to think of anything but the feel of Garreth Weasley's lips and his cinnamon-scented skin, he might have taken fifty house points for having the gall to seduce the head boy. The fact of the matter was, Andrew was absolute putty in Garreth's hands. A fine job he was doing enforcing school rules, he thought bitterly.

Garreth hesitated just for a moment, as if he too could sense the desperation radiating from Andrew's unbearably tense body. The opportunity had presented itself and Andrew took it, grabbing a fistful of fabric and pulling Garreth back towards him with unexpected force. Their lips found each other easily enough in the dim light, and Andrew opened his mouth at the first flick of tongue with a quiet moan that did nothing to assert his authority. Far from it, Andrew could have given Garreth a month's worth of detentions and he doubted the Gryffindor would have been deterred. If Andrew was hungry, Garreth seemed practically starving, all tongues and roaming hands. Garreth used his taller stature and a firm hold to manoeuvre Andrew away from the shelves until his thighs hit something hard behind him. He stumbled slightly, their lips still fused and tongues locked in an infinite caress. Fingers skimmed Andrew's hips and he shuddered, involuntarily arching his back in invitation. Garreth smiled against his mouth and hummed an approving sort of sound as his fingers found bare and heated skin.

The air was stifling, Andrew's clothes so damn suffocating. His face, if he were visible, must have been a shade of red resembling a beetroot. Never had he been so thoroughly aroused and so completely willing to throw away every deeply-ingrained sense of propriety as when Garreth reached around to grab his arse, pulling their bodies flush to reveal the hardness of his erection against his own. Andrew just whimpered and contemplated begging as he threaded his fingers in the boy's copper mane. Unbidden, a thought of Garreth's warm and inviting mouth wrapped around his cock made him twitch in anticipation.

“You really are wound tight,” Garreth said, moving his tongue to Andrew's pulse, teeth grazing lightly down his neck. His hands were busily working to release Andrew from the confines of his breeches. He helped him along the way, a sudden rush of nerves halting his breath as his knuckles brushed Garreth's hard length. This was really happening, Andrew thought somewhat giddily. His first sexual encounter was to be with Garreth in the potions storeroom—how unexpected, and completely wondrous. Another groan rumbled through his chest as his breeches finally fell open and Garreth wasted no time wrapping his fingers around his impossibly hard cock.

“Fuck Andrew, you're big.”

“Am I?” he replied breathlessly. Merlin, he wouldn't last long if all Garreth had to do was squeeze to make him squirm.

Garreth laughed again and whispered a ‘yeah’ against his skin as he delved back against the crook of his neck. Andrew's head fell back, his eyes closing to the semi-darkness as he lost himself in the rhythmic stroking. Garreth's grip was firm and sure, simultaneously offering Andrew much-needed relief and winding him tighter than ever. Every tug built him up to explode in what he would assume would be a most spectacular fashion. His hips rocked almost mindlessly, vaguely aware of the sting of Garreth's mouth against his neck, the trailing hand up his stomach. Andrew was mumbling some nonsense that made the other boy groan and next thing he knew the heavy weight against his chest was gone and a rush of cool air startled him from his stupor.

“Wait, wha-?”

“Well you did ask so nicely,” Garreth replied from somewhere on the floor.

Apparently whatever he'd said had prompted Garreth to drop to his knees and without much warning, Andrew ascended to heaven. Wetness and blissful warmth enveloped him, just the tip at first with a teasing swipe of tongue that made him dizzy. He rolled his hips, seeking more, and Garreth took him all with an ear-splitting moan that had Andrew holding onto his hair for dear life. It took all his waning self control not to hold him in place, not to give into the temptation to thrust deep into his throat. Nothing had ever felt so good as Garreth's mouth; so often used to charm and joke in such a genial manner, it was hard to believe it being used in such a downright obscene way. Not to mention that tongue, currently swirling over his head like he was enjoying an Andrew-flavoured lollipop. For the first time since extinguishing his wand, Andrew wished he could see, just to admire the redhead’s lips wrapped around him for a second or two.

“Garreth…”

“Mmm…yeah?”

“So good,” Andrew sighed mindlessly.

The chuckle Garreth made vibrated through Andrew's cock and his fingers entwined in those luscious curls even deeper. Garreth moaned and Andrew tugged again, eliciting the same response. The realisation dawned that he liked being manhandled in such a way, hitting Andrew like a stampeding graphorn and damn near had him spilling into Garreth's mouth. He was standing on a precipice, before him an abyss that beckoned every fibre of his being. He could let himself fall, be consumed by that blissful oblivion, or he could turn and run. The latter might have been more sensible, given that he'd have to look Garreth in the face at some point over the subsequent days. The Gryffindor busy sucking him off apparently had other ideas.

“You can come in my mouth, you know.”

Andrew was stunned into silence by the way Garreth suggested that so blithely before returning the suction to his cock. There was no stopping the dizzying tightening in his abdomen as he reached his climax. Andrew succumbed to the inevitable with a cry and a tug of hair, his hot release exploding into Garreth's waiting mouth. Breathless, he rocked his hips in time to the pulses from his cock, the lips enveloping him keeping a tight seal until every last drop was spent. Andrew's arm was shaking from the force of his orgasm when he delved into his pocket to retrieve his wand. “L-Lumos.”

The room was cast into a steady white light, harsh shadows gathering from the obstruction of their bodies. Now he could finally see Garreth, knelt before him with fingers still curled around Andrew's length. He looked…sublime, quite frankly, despite or perhaps because of how dishevelled his hair now was, copper strands falling haphazardly over his forehead. His glistening lips struck Andrew as completely obscene, knowing that he'd been licking Andrew's spend from them only moments before. Garreth looked up at him with a smile and he thought he saw hunger in those mossy eyes. Heart still pounding, Andrew watched keenly as Garreth straightened up to full height—a couple of inches that felt like a whole foot more than Andrew—and pressed his lips on his. The insistent nudge of Garreth's erection brought Andrew's thoughts back into focus, and nerves almost threatened to overwhelm him. Garreth kissed him gently, though he felt an urgency simmering just below the surface in the twitch of his muscles and shuddering breaths—the next thing he knew, his hand had been guided to the stiff length straining against Garreth's trousers.

“It's just like touching yourself,” Garreth muttered against his lips, unbuttoning himself until there was nothing between them—the hot press of their lower bodies and subtle scent of musk flooded Andrew's senses. Andrew nodded, but he was nothing like him, really. Garreth was thicker, heavier, with a smattering of freckles covering his shaft that made Andrew salivate. His fingers wrapped firmly around the girth and Andrew began stroking slowly just as he would himself, his eyes on Garreth's face and attuned to every expression.

“Yes…faster…,” Garreth sighed.

Andrew picked up the pace, concentrating hard on the angle, the pressure, the rhythm. He knew he'd hit that sweet spot when Garreth's eyes rolled back into his head. Watching him lose himself by Andrew's hand whilst moaning softly into his mouth was exhilarating. What little remained of Garreth's composure shattered when Andrew began kissing his neck, using his teeth and sucking the skin just as Garreth had done to him. Even his skin tasted good, as if he'd bathed in spices. As soon as Andrew thought to himself that he didn't want this to end, it had, with a spurt of warmth over his hand and Garreth moaning his name. Shadows danced around the room as Andrew's wand hand shook with excess adrenaline and his head collapsed onto Garreth's shoulder. Then the panic set in.

“Fuck.”

“I didn't expect that sort of language from you,” Garreth chuckled. ”It was fantastic though, wasn't it?”

“No. I mean yes, but I need to get back on patrol.”

“Right, your uh…head boy duties. Shame.”

The two cleaned up and dressed in silence; not awkward, but comfortably hazy and content. Once they'd attempted to fix one another's hair, Andrew hastily turned to escape out of the door, hoping that nobody had noticed his absence. He hesitated at the handle, the brass cooling his sweaty palms as he tried to form a coherent sentence.

“You won't tell anyone, will you?” Andrew asked, turning to Garreth.

“Of course not. And you won't tell anyone that I was here?”

“I won't, just this one time.”

“If, hypothetically, you were to catch me here again, what would you do?” Garreth asked, smiling.

“Goodnight, Garreth.” Andrew chuckled and left the room, straightening his robes. He made it out into the corridor before his face broke into a bright grin.

Andrew had been worried that being in Garreth's vicinity would be unbearably awkward after what they'd done, but apart from the redhead tossing him a cheeky wink whenever he walked by, he was his usual cheery self, and didn't seem to avoid Andrew at all. If anything, they talked more often now. Andrew himself felt more comfortable, less awkwardly in-awe of the handsome Gryffindor, and dare he say he'd adopted a kind of quiet confidence in the days afterward. Garreth had thoroughly succeeded in unwinding him, or as Everett so colourfully put it, Andrew had ‘lost the stick up his arse’.

For all Garreth's loudness, his garrulous manner, he'd been perfectly quiet about their little tryst just as he'd promised. Andrew was eternally grateful, of course; he couldn't fathom how furiously he'd be stripped of his title if Professor Weasley found out he'd been fondling her nephew in the potions storeroom. Strangely, Andrew didn't regret a single minute of what had transpired, rule breaking and all.

After their shared Charms lesson the following week, Andrew found Garreth jotting in his journal outside the classroom, satchel slung over his shoulder and leaning against a wall in his usual effortlessly handsome way. It seemed like a good a time as any for Andrew to muster the courage to give him the parcel stuffed in his robe pocket.

“Garreth?”

“Hm? Oh, hello Andrew!” Tucking his journal away, Garreth gave Andrew his full attention.

“I've got something for you,” Andrew said, holding the nondescript brown parcel out for him.

“What's this?” He ripped over the packaging right in front of Andrew, revealing a riot of pink and purple tufts. “Fwooper feathers?” Garreth smiled his bright and genuine smile, and Andrew was glad he'd spent a good few galleons on the lot.

“For your discretion.”

“You're paying me?”

“No!” Andrew gasped, paling.

“I'm joking,” Garreth laughed, placing a warm hand on his arm. “Thanks, Andrew. I'd never tell anyone, you know.”

Still recovering from the shock, Andrew smiled and turned to leave, but Garreth's hand was still firmly planted on his bicep.

“Hey, want to grab a drink at The Three Broomsticks?” the Gryffindor blurted out.

“Like a…” A date? Andrew wondered.

“Doesn't have to be, but yes.”

Andrew almost toppled over at the unexpected invitation. He'd never intended or expected for what had happened that night to lead to something more. Truthfully he'd hoped, but Garreth seemed content with various casual encounters; his conquests were no secret around the castle. Maybe Andrew had made more of an impression on him than he'd thought.

“I'd prefer a cup of tea at Steeply’s if it's all the same to you. I've never had a taste for butterbeer,” Andrew admitted.

“Really? Well then I retract the offer.”

Andrew smiled and shook his head. “Saturday?”

“See you on Saturday, if you don't catch me out of bounds before then.”

#garreth weasley #andrew larson #garreth weasley x andrew larson #larsley

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